Calad Aur (Morning Light)
by Sarah Ireland
Summary: A girl scrapes up the courage to leave her abusive family and finds herself caught in the middle of a battle for the fate of...well....everything! The cause? The small cross pendant she carries. (New chapter up, my most important one yet. R&R)
1. Down from the door where it began

***Disclaimer*** Okay, though none of the people or situations in this particular chapter directly relate to Tolkien's books, they'll lead up to it in the next few chapters. Anything you find in Tolkien's books wasn't my idea. Bah. Don't sue me.  
  
  
  
  
  
Kara leaned her cheek against the rough bark of a tree and breathed in the soft, friendly night air. Pain throbbed in her temples and clutched at her chest. The starlight shone down gently on her---the only gentleness she did not fear to accept any more. Warm breeze stirred the fabric of her dress, making her cloak rustle as well. Inside the brightly glowing windows of her parent's tiny cottage, the rest of the family chattered and laughed. Kara's heart throbbed with envy and exhaustion. She no longer felt as if she could join in with that laughter, expected to be quiet, any words replied to with screams or blows.   
Kara had a hard time convincing herself that her aunt and uncle weren't being unreasonable any more. But then, reason didn't seem to have a very strong hand in her life any more. So, when everything inside Kara began screaming "Unjust!" she believed it.  
Tears quivered in Kara's eyelashes and splashed down on her cheeks. Her heart felt weak, as if to beat once more would almost be too much. She loved her family. They had done much for her. But the good didn't, couldn't outweigh the bad. As the blood rolled over her tongue from her split lip, Kara realized that she was old enough to know that.  
Slowly, the hot glow on Kara's cheeks died down. Still she soaked in the cool evening breeze, gaining strength for what she knew she needed to do. Her eyes rolled to the darkened horizon.   
She had heard from travelers of things to the east and west, of the Shire, where Hobbits inhabited their cozy hobbit holes, where the great Bilbo Baggins had once resided, where Gandalf the Grey wandered in and out of disrepute, always mending relations with his awesome fireworks.   
She heard of the dwarfs, deep in the mountains, where they forged gold, iron, silver, and bronze into things of beauty. She had heard of their deep-throated singing echoing through the halls of stone when the day's work was done, singing of their ancestors and their greatness.   
She also heard the legends of elves, the fair folk, and had even learned a few words of their language. She wanted to know more, wanted to be elsewhere to see if there was another way for her to live. If not, she would return quietly and take whatever punishment was offered to her.  
Kara pushed away from the tree, giving it a fond stroke and inhaling the starlit night once more. God, she murmured softly, I know there is something better than this out there, something better than this in me. No answer poured down from the heavens. She didn't expect it to, simply stepped out from under the shelter of the tree and ducked around the house. The back door opened with a loud squeak. She dared not look at the main room where her family was gathered.  
"Kara, tomorrow I want you to clean the house, okay sweetie?" Kara resisted the temptation to shudder at her aunt's calm, agreeable tone, swallowed a scream of "Don't you EVER call me that again!" and choked out a raspy "Yes ma'am." The door to the room she shared with her cousins creaked loudly as she pushed it open with her fingertips. Slowly, she rolled her clothes into a thick blanket, more worried about waterproofing than cleanliness. Her other pair of boots were slung around the roll, and her belts looped around it to make straps. the few other items she owned were placed in her pockets or tucked into the roll. She had no money.  
Last of all, she clipped over her neck her most prized posession--a silver-etched cross. Its design was queer, simple and ornate at the same time, heavy and yet delicate. It was strung gently on a braided leather cord. She threaded her stubby fingers around it and took a deep breath. It reminded her, wordlessly, that there was Provision out there for one such as her.  
Quiet as a whisper, Kara dimmed the lights in the room by snuffing a few candles and slid open the window. Thump! The bag landed outside. Kara slid out after it, landing lightly on her feet and yanking the skirt of her dress after her. This attire would do for now, she reflected, but once she got out of the town, whenever that might be, she'd have to change to her breeches and tunic. With energy, she looped the pack over her back and stepped out onto the road.   
Kara walked for a while, expecting something to have changed. Nothing altered, save for every breath she took seemed to be cleansing something from within her that had been there too long, poisoning who she was. Fear and pain did not diminish. Uncertainty still dogged her every step, but those steps were light. As her cottage disappeared behind her, the soft glow of the town, still awake and busy, met her eyes.   
The local tavern was rather tame, as taverns go. Most of the people there were travel-weary or work-weary, just trying to find a little lighthearted relief through ale and song. The barmaids were neither busty, nor were they whores. They were mostly six foot tall women who had worked on farms all their life and could bundle most of the tenants out of the door without breaking a sweat. Kara was always sure to give them a wide berth when she met them in town, but they were welcoming enough when she slipped through the door and dropped her pack on one of the hooks.   
The room was full. Some of the men were dancing. Others were drinking. Some were looking around the room suspiciously. There were always a few that enjoyed being dramatic. A few women tenants drifted around, either welcoming men when they advanced or brushing them off. All in all, a typical tavern.  
Kara tightened her belt a little, feeling her dagger press comfortingly against her hip. She had another one stashed in her boot. She may be young, but she was no fool. The first time she saw a brawl erupt in one of these places, she had spent the little money she chanced to have on the set she currently carried. Then, through the kindness of strangers, she had gathered a basic understanding of how to use them, as well as her fists.  
Kara chose a seat near the fire but still in the shadows and with her back to the wall. She wanted to take no chance that anyone who knew her would see her belongings and guess what she was doing. She dropped her pack, then headed to the bar to see if she could get an idea where to head next.  
Mistake number one.  
The bar was packed with the more drunk men of the bunch. Kara very much doubted any information she would get from them. Nevertheless, she pulled herself up onto a stool and shoved the half-drained ale aside, making a few drops splash onto the counter.  
Mistake number two.  
Kara felt a rough tap on her shoulder. She turned around to face the roughened face of a hunter (if the bow and arrows he carried were any indication). His breath smelled a little of alcohol, but his speech was clear and his eyes blazed.  
"You're in my seat, wench."  
Kara stared at the man, blinking. The bartender piped up, "Leave off, Hound. Ye've na been 'ere, an' there's an empty one just there." Hound took no notice of the tender, continued to glare at Kara. Kara shrugged and slithered out of the seat.   
Mistake number three  
The heel of her boot caught on the stool leg, and Kara went flying, taking the stool with her. Those at the tables grew silent. Those at the bar laughed loudly.   
A drop of blood trickled from Kara's nose, and the wound on her lip re-opened, but otherwise she was unhurt. Placing her palms on the floor, she made to push herself into a standing position. Before she could get herself off the ground, however, rough hands jerked her to her feet and pushed her back against the bar. Several of the more sober tenants stood, but all those wonderful valkyrie barmaids seemed to be on break.  
"Brilliant, oaf. You've broken my stool and spilled my drink. Get me another of each." Kara shrank under his almost amused, but somehow brutal expression. He was used to bossing women, or children, or both.  
"All right..." She extended her hand. "Give me the money for the drink."  
"Nah. You pay for it." A pause.  
"I'm sorry...I have no money, sir."  
"Bah! Anyone who dresses like that has money to spare."   
"I tell you, I have nothing!" His hand flew back, the flat of his palm aimed at her face. A few people were shoving their way through the gawking crowd, but they were too far away.  
Something in Kara snapped. Indignantion and deprivation of justice flared up in her, red-hot. She lost all reason why she should allow his hand to smash into her cheek. All she knew was that she hurt, that she tasted blood, and that she could defend herself. Unbidden by her, her fingers crept around the knife in her belt. Their grip tightened, and her hand flew to the man's throat. Her other arm shot up and blocked the blow, then shoved his arm down away from her. The blade pressed into the man's throat. A trickle of blood slid from under the knife.  
"If you ever raise a hand against me again, I'll kill you." She hissed at him. Two black eyes met hers. She read no fear in them, only caution. Unsurprised, she pressed the knife in a little deeper. His collar was now soaked with blood. The bartender and maids were suspiciously absent. A few people now reached them. Hands closed over her arms and wrist and pulled her away from the attacker, while three men held his arms behind his back and yanked him out of the crushing crowd.  
Kara forced her arms to relax and took a deep breath, releasing her grip on the dagger to a nonthreatening two-fingered hold.  
"You can let me go now." 


	2. A fork in the road

***Yet another Disclaimer*** None of the characters from Tolkien's books are mine....etc, etc, ad nauseum  
  
  
((Anyway, I know this is kind of a slow start, but I lose track of time when I write! Anyway, it's not my fault. ::grump:: Read and Review!....Oh yeah, and if you REALLY want translations for the Sindarin spoken in this chapter, I'll put them in the next chapter!))  
  
  
  
  
Kara slammed the tavern door behind her and wiped the traces of blood off her dagger blade with a handkercheif. The night was getting on, and she wanted to put some miles between her and her family. Her boots crunched on the street as she began to walk.  
A hand closed over her mouth tightly and a blade of some kind pressed into her throat, precisely over her jugular. Kara dared not swallow. A woman's voice whispered in her ear.  
"It's very dangerous to pull a knife in a crowded tavern. No telling who you'll...prick. What's a little girl like you doing with this, hmm?" The fingers of the hand moved down to the woven leather cord around her neck and grasped the pendant.  
"Put...that...down." Kara muttered. Her voice quavered slightly, but she could feel herself growing hot with anger.  
"And if I don't?"  
"Then I will render you incapable of picking anything up again." A bluff, but perhaps it would buy her some time to think. The voice chuckled softly. Kara blinked. The tone of the chuckle was neither dark nor menacing, but light and fair and deeply amused. The hands released her, and the blade was withdrawn from her throat.   
Kara whirled around to see a woman six inches taller than her, with blonde, almost white hair, and the kind of eyes she had only heard about in fairy tales. She wore a simply cut white dress. The fabric seemed to sparkle in the starlight, sprinkled here and there with tasteful green markings. The woman wore white boots, a belt of some unidentifiable metal linked in intricate vine patterns, and a leather strap over her chest. The ears that poked through---were pointed. Kara blinked, backing away a few steps.  
"I thought elves were peaceful." That laugh again, like a river gurgling past stones. Kara found it impossible to view her as a threat, though she continued to be on her guard.  
"Forgive me, young one. At times, tradition must be broken." A light smile.  
"What do you want?" Kara's hand crept to her dagger underneath her cloak, out of view.  
"You'll find no need for that blade. Come inside and speak with me."  
"I'm afraid I can't. I need to..." Kara looked around. Where she stood, the road split in three directions. She had no idea which one to take. Perhaps, if nothing else, this woman could give her advice. With a nod, she twisted on her heel and headed back up the path, trotting after the odd woman in white.  
  
The tavern had emptied considerably. Those that remained were mostly quiet from fatigue or drink. Kara kept her bag with her this time. The woman led her over to a table where an elven man was sitting. His attire was simple as well, his hair pulled back in an interesting braid. He did not rise as they approached, but did sit up and forward, nodding his head politely. The woman motioned to him.  
"This is Faradir, son of Faradrim. I am Tathren." Tathren motioned to a seat. Kara settled into it quietly. Her back was to the door.  
"My name is...Kara."  
"Kara? Where do you hail from?" The eyes of Faradir looked at her curiously. Kara pressed her lips together.  
"Nowhere. I claim no homeland." Tathren looked amused.  
"And where are you going?" She urged. Kara shrugged.  
"I don't know." Faradir blinked.  
"You come from nowhere, do not know where you are going, and carry an elven necklace, though you are human. To further twist this enigma, you allow a ruffian to treat you with disrespect to the uttermost, looking like a beaten animal, then fly at him, cut his throat, and threaten to kill him." Amusement lit in his eyes, but not derisive amusement. Kara noticed the same look in Tathren's eyes.  
"I had enough. That is all. As for the necklace, I don't know where it came from either. It was given to me." Again, the elves exchanged glances. Kara began to feel uncomfortable.  
"I gwain tinu?" Faradir muttered. Tathren gave Faradir a censoring look and shook her head just slightly. Kara shifted.  
"Impolite as this may sound, I must leave..."  
"But you do not know where you are going, little one." Faradir inclined his head.  
"That is a problem, though I'd be open to anything the wise elves can suggest." Kara smiled just a bit. Tathren nodded slowly.  
"I hate to see one as young as you travel alone, though you have proven an ability to defend yourself. May I suggest you walk with us until you find your bearings?"  
Kara pushed the shock out of her features.   
"I'm sorry, but I must leave tonight."  
"He cell." Tathren murmured. Then she resumed in the common language.  
"We can leave tonight if you wish. Our packs are in the back." 


	3. New friends and stranger companies

Tathren found herself glancing at their traveling companion repeatedly as they walked along the dark roads. Her face was set and determined. She never looked up, seeming permanently fixed on the ground in front of her, putting one foot in front of another in a forced fashion, as if it were something she had to convince herself to do. Faradir, too, watched her carefully. From time to time, they conversed softly in their own tongue.  
  
"What do you make of her, Tathren?"  
  
"She is running away from something. It is not great or terrible, but it is a decision firmly made in her heart. She will not be turned aside from it."  
  
"What of the pendant?" Faradir made a very slight head motion toward Kara. "It was given to her, she says. By whom? Where would she get a prize such as that?" Tathren looked at Faradir with wide eyes.  
  
"It is no ornament, cousin. Remember that. It carries power and potential. We must ensure her return to Elrond. He and Gandalf could perhaps deal with it sufficiently."  
  
"But Tathren, how do we even know it is the one spoken of?"  
  
"You should have studied harder at this portion of the scrolls, Faradir."  
  
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Kara listened to the musical sound of the elvin language. It was rumored that all who heard it fell under a spell. Kara certainly was under no spell, but the pattern of the language relaxed her. It faded pain into a distant memory, made her heart willing to beat again, though she could tell from their tone that their discussion was serious. Their eyes seemed to flicker breifly to the pendant around her neck from time to time. She resisted the impulse to take it off and hide it in her clothing.   
  
Finally, Tathren turned to Kara, eyes alight even in the dim night.  
  
  
"Are you tiring, little one? We will stop if you need rest." Kara shook her head firmly at that. They were still not far enough away from her home. Even though she doubted anyone she knew would come this far, the memories dogged at her heels, driving her forward.  
  
"Are you hungry? Will you have some food?" Another headshake.  
  
"I am thirsty, though. Do you have any water with you?" Tathren laughed again, that high. chime-like laughter, and handed her a skin full of water.  
  
Kara drank, and though the water wasn't cold, it had an odd taste that, quite frankly made her want to titter. It almost tickled as it went past her mouth, throat, and stomach. Kara wiped her mouth after a long drink. Suddenly, a giggle bubbled out from deep inside her. Kara clapped her hands over her mouth, expecting at least a harsh glare for her sudden outburst.  
  
Faradir chuckled. "So you do have a laugh, little one! Could you be pursuaded to use it more often?" Kara blinked at him.  
  
"At least smile, then?" A teasing grin. Kara looked down and giggled again.  
  
"I don't mean to be dreary, really. I'm just...thinking." She murmured lamely, feeling as if she were telling them too much and too little at the same time. Kara could feel their eyes peircing into her, though she wasn't looking at their faces.   
  
"...Why do you keep staring at my necklace?" Kara suddenly demanded, her tone harsh and defensive. "Yes, I know that it's elvin, but surely non-elves wear elvish trinkets sometimes. Why do I seem so peculiar?" Faradir's head snapped around to look at her. Kara flinched. For a breif instant, the intensity of his eyes translated. She saw her uncle's face, taut with unwarranted rage at her upstart tone, saw his enormous, work-swollen hand fly back, quivered in anticipation of the blow.  
  
Then the image faded, all Kara saw was the confused and dismayed elves, and her face burned with shame.  
  
They travelled all night, and into the day. Kara spoke little more, drawing into herself for comfort's sake.   
  
At noon, the elves called a halt. They did not need the rest, Kara was willing to bet, but she was beginning to stumble with fatigue. So, veering off the main road, they sat themselves down on the warm grass. Kara had not expected to eat, as she had brought no food with them, but she was offered a cake of lembas. She had heard of it from travellers---it was rumored to be the waybread of the elves, and to have peculiar properties. She broke into the leaf wrapping and took a small bite. It tasted very wholesome, almost sweet, and nourishing. Like the water they had given her, it seemed to tickle on the way down, stirring her to life.   
  
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Soon they were on their way again. This time Kara attempted to make conversation. Aided by a probing curiosity, she found that they were heading for Rivendell. Kara felt a strange thrill at the word. It spoke of bright mystery and simple magic. All the tales she had heard rushed to the surface. Suddenly these seemed to be seasoned travellers, and she herself very naive.   
Kara found herself digging for more information. Had they ever seen hobbits? Dwarves? What about Gandalf? Did they know of him? Had they ever met Elrond? She questioned them until they laughed heartily and began to speak of their own accord of the things they had seen. Kara even persuaded them to teach her a few more words of their language.   
All this time, she was so engrossed with soaking in what they said that she fogot about their own travels. Then, so suddenly that it almost made Kara dizzy, the terrain began to change. From rolling hills and bushes here and there it became thickly forrested and more mountainous. Kara found herself constantly looking at the violent peaks and soft foothills instead of her feet, occasionally tripping and falling on her face because of it.  
  
  
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After about a week of lazy travelling, Tathren began pushing the party harder and faster. Kara hated to complain, but she did feel the need to inquire about the sudden change of pace. All the elves would say was something in their tongue along the lines of "Yrch!" Kara decided not to inquire further.  
  
Somewhere between the eighth and tenth day of travelling, Kara noticed still another change. This one was not so good. The air seemed to carry a dark heaviness, almost a stench, burning the inside of her nostrils and stinging the base of her throat. It made walking more difficult, made her feel troubled.   
  
As she walked between her two companions, hiding from a light drizzle under her cloak, she allowed her thoughts to linger on this unease. After a bit, she spoke.  
"Faradir, why does the air feel so...upset? Where are we? We must be somewhere unfortunate for even you and Tathren to feel such unease." Kara watched the elvin face, half-expecting another "Yrch!" to explode from his lips. Instead, he blinked at her, then dropped to the ground.  
"...Well I don't think that was really necessary."  
"Hush! Tathren, listen."  
For a tense moment the party listened, one on the ground with his ear to the grass, two standing. An almost secretive nod was exchanged between the two. Kara didn't notice it. She was too busy straining her ears.  
"It's almost as if...as if the ground is in pain." Kara blinked, realizing how truly odd that sounded. She wasn't surprised, however, to see Tathren nod in agreement.  
"That is because we are directly over an orc cave." Her voice was coldly calm, but her eyes held fire. Kara started.  
"How far are we away from a hiding place?"  
"A few hours. Rivendell is not far. If we can reach its borders by nightfall, all will be well. Hurry! The sun begins to set!"  
  
The pace of their walking increased even more now. Everyone knew that Orcs came out of hiding as soon as the sun sank behind the mountains in which they dwelled. Kara felt the unease begin to grow, as well as that searing pain at the base of her throat. Eventually, the burning sensation forced her to reach a hand just inside her tunic. She was surprised to find a welt there the size and shape of a cross.   
Kara tangled her fingers around the braided leather thong to stop it from swinging with her steps. Her fingers grasped the pendant, then immediately released it.  
"Owch!" an involountary cry escaped her lips. The pendant had burned her fingers before she could manage to drop it. It continued to almost sear her chest, but though the leather it was strung on flapped wildly with her steps, the pendant never seemed to move. She dared not speak of it, simply followed the elves, gritting her teeth. Her footsteps seemed to come more quickly than even the lighter elvish steps.  
Kara's legs continued to pump into the ground. She felt no pain at her exertion, only a need to go faster. Her entire torso now felt on fire. On she ran. Faradir cast her a sideways glance from time to time.  
"It is well that you do not tire, little one. Our very lives may depend upon it." Kara opened her mouth to answer him, but at that moment the shadow from a mountain fell on them. The elves pulled up and stopped. Kara attempted to do likewise, but instead went into a roll and crashed into a bush. She was quickly set on her feet, and the three stood listening, weapons drawn.  
The shadows began to seem alive to Kara. Objects that had been perfectly still and peaceful now seemed animated to her fevered imagination. Her blood felt ignited, fire spreading from the pendant that burned its way into her breastbone. Her eyes were now lit with an eerie glow, darting around wildly. Her hands clutched her daggers in a death grip.   
Suddenly, for no knowable reason, Kara whipped around to face the opposite direction. Her eyes leveled on a perfectly innocent-looking cluster of rocks behind them. The fire in her blood flared, making her clench her teeth. The dagger, unbidden by her, flew from her hand directly for a space between two of the rocks. Tathren and Faradir cried out for her to hold her ground. Kara simply watched the dagger fly, saw it disappear within the rocks....  
And heard a stifled groan as the dagger connected with something.  
Kara was right behind the elves as they scrambled behind the rocks. There they found the body of an orc scout, a knife protruding from his forhead. His jaws gaped as he fought breifly for life, then he sagged against the rocks.  
Tathren leapt forward and tore the grimy watchman patch off his arm, shooting a sideway glance at Kara.  
"How did you know this yrch was here? Even Faradir and I could not see him." Kara swallowed, one hand unconsciously grasping her chest. She suddenly felt like a very little girl again.  
"....I'm sorry....did I do something wrong? I don't even know why I threw that dagger...it was just instinct...I guess." Faradir repositioned his quiver on his back.  
"You did nothing wrong, Kara, and if that was merely your instinct, my heart is gladdened that you are on our side."   
"Are you hurt?" Tathren suddenly asked, beginning to hurry on their way again. For the other two, the signal was well-taken. They fell in beside her. Kara shook her head, but remained mute. The burning feeling had died down a little, but every time she made a motion with her hand to wipe the orc-blood from her dagger she had to bite her lip from the pain of the burn.  
And still the night fell, propelling the small party to the elvin gates of Rivendell. 


	4. Rivendell

Kara had never before seen the gates of any city. The town she grew up in needed no walls. Here, the gates of Rivendell seemed open and clean and welcoming, but at the same time mysterious, almost like a sign saying "Make yourself at home, but take care not to damage the furniture." The soft crunching of the leaves under her feet calmed her. She felt tired and filthy. The seeming cleanness and freshness of the elves did nothing to help. In fact, she found herself feeling mildly cranky at them for being so presentable.   
Without saying a word, Tathren led them into the most lofty of the buildings, all but ignoring greetings from other elves. Her mouth was set, as was Faradir's. Silently, they strode up the spiral walkway to the airy building, lit with torches that hardly seemed to give off smoke. Kara followed them, as she had not been told to stay where she was at any point. Tears clawed at her eyes from the pain of the burn on her chest, but still she said nothing.  
At last they came to a large room in which sat several comfortable-looking chairs. One of them held a black-eyed, regal looking elf. He wore creamy-white robes, and the hair hanging from his temples was up in intricate knots. Kara found herself getting lost in his pool-like eyes, tumbling end over end in time and wisdom.  
"Hail, good friends. We are glad indeed to see you back safely. Nightfall is a dangerous time to travel. And who," he inquired, looking at Kara, "Is this little one?"  
Faradir placed a hand on Kara's shoulder. "This is our newest ally. Her name is Kara, and she has proven herself this evening to be one of strength. We would do well to offer her our friendship."  
"It is so offered." Elrond nodded cordially through an inquisitive expression.  
Tathren suddenly broke in. "My good lord Elrond, as strong as our friend is she has been running with elves at an unreasonable pace. Perhaps we might retire to a room breifly to change and clean ourselves?" Elrond again nodded his head gracefully and smiled slightly.  
"Very well. Faradir and I shall talk of your journey until you return." Tathren courtsied, then ushered Kara quickly from the room.  
  
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Faradir waited until the door clicked shut behind the two women. He knew what Tathren wanted him to do. That look she had shot him was as good as a verbal instruction. He understood his cousin well.  
"My lord Elrond, a strange thing has happened indeed while we have journeyed." Elrond looked at him, those dark, dark eyes seeming to penetrate into his mind.  
"Am I to assume it has something to do with the girl that was just here?" Faradir nodded. 


	5. Addendum to chapter 4 (FF screwed up!)

"She carries a pendant about her neck. She says it was given to her....Lord Elrond, it is a four-starred cross."   
The older elf stared at the younger for a few moments. The words hung in the air. Before his statement could take effect, Faradir hastened to cross the room and pull down a heavy tome from one of the shelves built into the wall. Leafing through   
the tattered and yellowed pages, he finally spotted the sketching he was looking for and brought it back to show to the other.  
The picture was of a cross. Each line of the cross was composed of two curved, plumelike lines. Between each of the lines at each of the cross's points was a star. Beneath it the runes read,  
"Mark well the daughter of men that carries the cross of four stars. On her shoulders rests the fate of the nine travelers. She carries a strength not her own. Hers is the ability to preserve and to destroy."  
Elrond stared at Faradir for a long moment.  
"How can this be? There hasn't been a cross of this fashion made in ages."  
"Nevertheless, my lord, it is so."  
"...Then we all stand between salvation and ruin, old friend."  
  
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Tathren kept a close eye on Kara as they walked down the halls together. She had thought her holding up remarkably well up to this point, but now she was not so sure. Her skin had turned an ominous shade of gray, and she seemed unable to walk a straight line. Her limbs shivered harshly. Tathren had suggested their retiring as much for the girl's health as for an information exchange between Faradir and Elrond.  
"Perhaps you ran a little too hard?" Tathren suggested. Kara didn't answer. Tathren opened the door to a vacant room and ushered her in, alleviating her of her pack. Kara sank into a chair, hair hanging limply over her face, and began unbuttoning her grimy tunic.  
Tathren stopped in unloading the pack when she heard a hiss coming from Kara. Turning around, she saw the girl's face white with pain and wet with tears. Tathren rushed over to her.  
"Where does it hurt? Kara, tell me where it hurts." She said urgently. Kara sat back and allowed the top of her tunic to fall open. Tathren gasped at what she saw under it.  
Kara's chest was red, almost as if it had been bathed in scalding water. More noticeable, though, was the pendant. It had somehow melded itself into her skin directly over her breastbone. Tathren brushed her fingers gently over it. Kara didn't make a sound. The area around the pendant itself didn't seem to be sensetive, but the rest of her torso seemed scalded. In addition, there was a dark red streak down her arm, ending at her fingertips. All of it originated from that pendant that now rose and fell as one with her chest.  
Suddenly, Kara, who had been deathly quiet all this time, began to whimper.  
"I'm so tired....so tired." Silent tears were replaced by overt weeping. Kara slithered off the chair into Tathren's arms. Her muscles were like pudding, and she trembled violently.  
"When I killed the orc, and when I was running with you, I felt like I was on fire. It hurt, but I did it. Now I'm so, so tired." Tathren shushed her quietly, stroking her hair. An elvin servant poked her head into the room to check on the noise. Tathren pressed her hand to Kara's forehead.  
"Go fetch Lord Elrond." 


	6. ...Just to make an even number

"Kara? Kara? Can you hear me, Kara? Try to wake up, little one." Kara shivered at the voice jarring her raw nerves. She wished it would leave her alone. Then again, she had managed to reach the stage where sleeping was a discomfort, so she experimentally cracked her eyelids.  
  
Everything was blurry at first. Kara blinked, trying to clear her vision.  
  
"There! Good, she's awake. Hello, Kara." Tathren's voice greeted her warmly. At last the images in front of her eyes assembled themselves, and Kara saw her friend as well as another elf she didn't know. The other elf spoke, pressing the back of her cool hand to Kara's forehead.  
  
"My name is Arwen. We are glad to have you with us, brave one. You worried us a little, but it looks as though you just needed sleep." Kara reached one hand up to rub her eyes gingerly, then smoothed her hands over her hair. Someone had cleaned her up and combed her hair. Her muddled senses took in the coolness of the air, the kind expressions on her companions' faces, and registered one question.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"There will be time enough for that later. Just take a little while to wake up. Does your chest hurt?"  
  
Her chest? What on earth was Tathren talking about? Her.....her chest! Her necklace! The burn! Kara suddenly remembered the feeling of being consumed by fire, the pain in her chest. She tried to sit up, muttering something along the lines of "Where is my cross?" Unfortunately, she sat up too fast. Gentle hands eased her into a slightly inclined position amidst the headrush. As soon as the dizziness passed, Kara giggled sheepishly, acknowledging her haste as one of her worse decisions.   
  
Then, with infinite care, she undid the top two laces in her gown. The cord was mysteriously absent from around her neck, but the pendant was....Kara gasped softly. At the top of her sternum rested the cross...but more than simply hanging there, it seemed to have somehow united itself with her chest. Unbelievingly, she ran her fingers over it. It didn't move, as if it had simply pressed itself into her skin. It was solidly one with the bone underneath it. Kara looked up at the two elves, whose calm but comcerned gaze flickered from her face to that cross.  
  
"Um...Tathren? I think now would be a good time to talk of what happened."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"So let me get this straight...what you're saying is that there's some kind of prophecy about this necklace, and that it does something to ME? And that I'm supposed to do something because of it?" Kara watched the faces of all the elves in turn. Tathren, Arwen, Elrond, and Faradir either sat or stood near her chair. In her lap, Kara held the scroll with the diagram of her cross and the writings about it. Elrond nodded.  
  
"We ourselves are nearly as confused as you are. We were hoping you could help us with the mystery." Kara shook her head.   
"I'm afraid I can't. This necklace was just a necklace to me until yesterday."  
"Faradir has told us how you killed the orc. No human has vision that sharp. No elf, even." Arwen spoke up from near her father.  
"I can't explain that, either. I didn't even see the orc. The dagger just...flew out of my hand."   
"In any case, am I to assume that her coming here has to do with the occurances of the last few days?" Elrond nodded at Faradir. Kara blinked. Faradir hastened to explain.  
"A council has been called here, Kara. Have you ever heard of Sauron, or the One Ring?"  
"Only in legends." Kara listened as a quiet voice chanted,  
  
"Three rings for the elven kings under the sky  
Seven for the dwarves in their halls of stone  
Nine for mortal men doomed to die  
One for the dark lord on his dark throne  
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie  
One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them  
One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them  
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie."  
  
As the voice faded away, Kara blinked and realized that it was her lips that were closing, her throat that was relaxing after speech. The elves stared at her. Kara shifted uncomfortably.  
  
"I don't suppose it would help to say I've never heard that poem before in my life?"   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Gandalf blinked at the pandamonium in front of him. It may have been that age was catching up with him, but he believed something momentous had just happened. As the crowd's clamor died down and the hobbits stopped calling Pippin names, it all began to click. The Fellowship had just been formed, one on the side of good to combat each ring wraith. He found it hard to believe that the fate of Middle Earth rested on, among others, four hobbits that were in a pile on the floor right now braining Pippin with the loaves of bread used for dinner.  
  
"There are matters yet to discuss!" The voice of Elrond rang out clearly. The hobbits stopped in their play and sheepishly dragged themselves upright. Gandalf watched the rest of the fellowship return to their seats. Gimli and Boromir, looking as though the nine were already too silly for them. Aragorn, looking troubled. Legolas, bearing curious expression, and the hobbits, still looking like naughty children. Except for Frodo. Frodo always looked sad.  
  
Elrond waited for order to restore itself before speaking again.  
  
"There is another matter yet to discuss." He repeated, then opened a large book in front of him. In a clear voice, he read aloud a prophecy Gandalf knew well. It concerned a woman who bore a certain sign. it was said she would have power over the nine travellers. But surely...  
  
"The woman spoken of in this prophecy was thought to be only a symbol....until yesterday. Faradir, son of Faradrim, bring the lady Kara before us." A murmur went through the crowd as Faradir exited quietly. Within a few minutes, he re-entered. Just behind him, a young girl slipped in, eyes wide and uncertain. She wore a simple white elvin dress, but her features were plain and human. Her straight red hair fell halfway down her back and her eyes sparkled, but other than that she bore the look of someone who had led a life of simple-minded and menial labor. Her fingers were stubby and calloused, and her bearing, though straight, was neither noble nor regal.  
  
"Lady Kara, welcome to the council." Elrond gave everyone in the room a breif introduction, then continued.  
"This is the girl that has fulfilled the requirements of the prophecy to the letter. She bears the mark of the four-starred cross." Gimli spoke up from his seat.  
"Where is this mark? I do not see it." Legolas shot Gimli a look, warning him to mind his manners. A lost cause, but at least the effort was made.   
  
The girl was beginning to look very uncomfortable. Faradir leaned over and murmured something to her gently. The look of discomfort deepened, and she began unlacing the top of her bodice. Sam, Merry, and Pippin were looking away modestly. Gimli began turning red, apparently regretting his brashness.  
  
Kara, whose cheek remained normally colored, pried open the top of her bodice just enough for all to see a metal cross imbedded in her chest. Its resemblance to that sketched in the ancient prophecies was remarkable. A quiet rustle ran through the elves. Gandalf stared. Boromir was the first to speak, and gently.  
  
"Tell us, good lady, where is the place of your birth?" Kara looked startled.  
"My Lord, I know not where I was born. I was raised in Goldvine." Boromir nodded.  
"One of the towns under the protection of Gondor. What did you do there, Lady Kara?" Again, Kara spoke in a soft murmur.  
"My aunt and uncle were farmers. I was a farm girl, my Lord."  
"What of your parents?"  
"My parents are dead, my Lord."  
"I am sorry. But tell us, how did you come by that mark?" Kara tensed a bit, then looked up with a puzzled expression.  
"I know not, my Lord. Before it became a part of me, it was simply a pendant on a necklace I owned." Now Elrond spoke.  
"And how did you come by this pendant? The design is elvin." Kara's face paled slightly.   
"I....I found it in the woods, Lord Elrond." Elrond gave her a mild look.  
"But where in what woods, how long ago, and under what circumstances?" Gandalf noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the hobbits and Legolas sitting forward slightly. The hobbits were quite fond of stories, and Legolas and the other elves held a particular interest in this mark. Kara stammered a little, then seemed to regain composure.  
  
"One day, about two years ago, my uncle dragged me into the woods just behind our house and began beating me. Putting me in line, he called it. I fell shortly after the first blow, and when I did, my temple landed on something sharp. I thought it was a rock, so I grasped it and waited.   
  
Soon the blows started coming faster and from a closer distance. I pushed the sharp part of what I thought was a rock through my knuckles until it protruded from my fist. Then I hit my uncle in the jaw with that fist as hard as I could. When he stopped to nurse it, I ran. When I finally stopped, all I had were a few bruises, a broken rib, and this." Kara lifted her hand and pushed the hair back from her face. A jagged, white scar lit the skin over her left temple. Her face had fallen and suddenly looked very old---not the age of wisdom but of pain. Gandalf again glanced over at the council. Elrond's face was slightly grave. The kindly eyes of the hobbits burned with indignation. Legolas wore a slight frown. Gimli grumbled under his breath. Kara hastened on.  
  
"Please, understand me, my Lords. Our family has lived in this land for generations, and we never entertain guests. For anyone to find anything new is remarkably uncommon." Elrond nodded.  
"Thank you, Lady Kara. Friends, I put to you this: the Lady Kara has proven herself to have a remarkable ability. Her aim is truer than an elf's, hearing keener, and speed and stamina greater at need. 'She carries a strength not her own.' If the prophecies are true, then she could have the ability to make or break the fellowship. 'On her shoulders rests the fate of the nine travelers.'" Gandalf nodded in agreement, then spoke.  
  
"There is safety in numbers. If the lady is willing to face the dangers with us, I say, let her go forward by our sides."  
"My Lord, the lady is young!" Gimli protested. "What could she know of courage in the face of danger?"  
  
"My good lord Dwarf, I know as much of courage as you yourself." Everyone looked up as Kara spoke up with uncharacteristic bodlness. "It takes courage unimagineable for a mere child to watch her parents' bodies carted away and burned, and to immediately afterward be struck to the ground by the people from which you seek comfort. Courage in the face of pain upon pain upon greif is no small matter." Faradir placed a hand on Kara's shoulder, signalling her into silence. No indignation played on her features, but Gandalf was willing to bet she was more than a little irked.   
  
"I am sure, sire, that you meant no offense." Faradir now spoke. "However, the lady has evidenced great boldness and courage when faced with danger. I am sure that she would be as brave as any of you."  
  
"Hold!" Legolas spoke up, leaning forward in his seat. His eyes were alight. "Aside from defending her valor, the lady Kara has not had a chance to speak on the matter. Should she not decide?" Elrond nodded.  
  
"Little one, what say you? Will you follow these nine into fire and flood, though death await you?" Elrond's voice had turned soft and fatherly. Kara shivered under the tone. Its gentleness, rather than its meaning, seemed to frighten her. Gandalf's eyebrows knit quizzically. After a long moment, Kara spoke.  
  
"This is much to consider for a simple farm girl who never expected she would do anything of worth. It seems that the fate of the world rests upon the fate of these nine, and that the fate of the nine rests upon me. If that is the case, then I will gladly share their fate." At these last words, a cheer went up from the hobbits. The rest of the nine wore a puzzled look.   
  
Suddenly, Kara's face broke into a smile. "Shall I know your names, or do you intend to leave me ignorant?" A light laugh. Pleased by the transformation, Gandalf was the first to step forward.  
"I am the old and wise fool of this party. You may call me Gandalf." Kara courtsied. The movement was simple, not polished, but graceful. Gandalf smiled.  
  
Aragorn then introduced himself, taking her hand and bowing. Boromir and Legolas did likewise. Each time Kara bobbed in return, dipping her head in a demure gesture of respect.  
  
Then came the hobbits. Each one greeted Kara in their own way, whether it was a pat on the arm (Pippin), an awkward bow (Merry), a shy smile (Sam), or a bewildered handshake (Frodo).  
  
Gimli regarded Kara breifly before sweeping off his hat in a bow that would more frighten than greet an ally. "I apologize for my rash words. Let us hope they were in vain." Kara smiled softly, the look in her eyes unreadable.  
  
"And let us hope, my Lord, that my character has no cause to be questioned again." 


	7. When the morning comes

((First of all, I want to thank the readers that have posted reviews!! It's thrilling to me to get constructive criticism and praise for my work. I also just like to know that people truly enjoy reading my stories! It's one of my greatest insecurities as a writer---I Know the writing is good, and the plot is decent, but do people really ENJOY reading my stuff? Thanks for the feedback.  
  
Now for the disclaimer. I own NONE of the characters in this story aside from Faradir, Tathren, and, of course, Kara. The situation is altered for my own amusement, but basically everything in here is from Tolkien's books. Enjoy.....please?))  
  
  
Boromir gave his sword one last swipe with a cloth, then sheathed it, readying it to lash onto his belt. Around his room, the various things he intended to pack mocked him with their disorderliness. So much had happened in the last few days, he still had no desire to pull together his things.  
  
Already he was an unpopular member of the fellowship. His brashness in the midst of the council had made everyone wary. In truth, it had made him wary of himself. The One Ring held frightening power, and the debate still continued within him whether or not it would truly be for the best to destroy it. His better judgement, on the other hand, told him that in the hands of any mortal, disaster would follow. Before he had had time to concede that fact, however, conversation had moved on, and he was engraved in the minds of the fellowship as a brash and power-hungry man.  
  
The one ally he felt he had in that room was the young girl. Not only was she of his race, but she had not been there to see his upstart behavior. Her large eyes, if he judged correctly, had taken in everyone in the council as equal, perhaps only elevating the elders for their experience. Her respect was absolute, yet she had been unafraid to put Gimli in his place when he questioned her bravery.   
  
Of course, in his time, he had known greater ladies---more noble, more quick and clever, and dearer to his heart. When it came to those of the fairer bearing, it took a good deal to impress him. Most that he met were unable to rouse more in him than appreciation for intelligent company.  
  
This girl was different, though. In her very simplicity she seemed a riddle--claimed a simple heritage, and yet had been thrown into the most incredible of circumstances without losing her feet even once. Her unpolished manners and eagerness to please did not cancel out his awareness that she was capable of using her wits.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Kara, at this moment in time, felt utterly incapable of using her wits. No matter how many times Tathren and Faradir demonstrated the stays on her light leather armor, she always managed to make the finished product look like one of the veins on Gandalf's nose. Finally, the indefatigable elves had taken the armor elsewhere to try and devise another method of fastening it. As soon as the door shut behind them, Kara dropped into a chair and let her forhead rest against the wall.   
  
And they expected her to swoop in and singlehandedly control the fate of the entire fellowship?  
  
A tap at the door broke into her thoughts. Kara stood, smoothing her skirts, and quickly crossed the room to open the door.  
  
Aragorn stood on the other side. He smiled, offering his hand to her. Kara took his hand with her fingertips and courtsied, as she had been taught. Her form was far from perfect, but then she had had so little practice. At least the others didn't seem to notice.  
  
"Good morning, Kara. Have I interrupted something?" Kara shook her head.  
"I wonder if you would walk with me? I know there will be enough of that in the near future, but I wish to speak with you." A nod from Kara, and a calm smile.  
"Do you speak, little one?" Aragorn's eyes were alight with humor. Kara laughed.  
"When the occasion calls for it, although I find more often than not others are more comfortable if I am silent." Taking his proffered arm loosely, Kara stepped out into the hall beside him.  
"What did you wish to speak to me about, My Lord?"  
"Aragorn will suffice, if it please you. As for my wishes, I would rather you did the speaking. So little is known about you."  
"Equally little is known to me about the cause I am about to give my life to." Kara smiled demurely. They had made their way out into the garden. The air was still, waiting for the sun to rise. Aragorn shrugged a bit and chuckled.  
"Fair, though hardly compliant."  
"Life would be uninteresting if it were constantly compliant."  
"True, but that matter is neither here nor there. What do you wish to know?" Kara thought carefully.  
"Normally I would ask about the road we are to take, but in this case something tells me that you yourself do not even have a complete idea. So, now I'll ask about those we travel with. I would rather know a bit more about them so I can intelligently decide which ones to take offense at." Aragorn quirked an eyebrow.  
"All those in this party are, I believe, honorable. They may, however, be a bit careless with their words from time to time."  
"They have their redeeming qualities." Kara noted, glancing up to a particular window in the building to their left. Aragorn fancied he saw a stir in the window, but nothing else.   
  
He shrugged and made as if to continue, but suddenly Kara held up a hand, signalling him to silence. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, expectation dancing in their brown depths. Aragorn looked up quizzically. There was not even the tiniest strip of light peeking over the mountains. Still, Kara hand was held up for silence.   
  
Then, at the same time Kara caught her breath, a flash of brilliant pink lit the sky, and the first hint of the sun itself made its way over the exact spot Kara had been watching. Aragorn smiled. The name Kara never seemed to fit her. Another one, however, fit her quite well. Aragorn murmured it quietly, almost afraid of interrupting her moment.  
  
"Calad Aur. You are I Calad Aur."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Boromir watched Aragorn and Kara from the window of his room. Once he thought Kara saw him, and had, for some odd reason, withdrawn behind the curtain. After a few seconds, he dared to peek his head back out. They were standing, arm in arm, facing precisely east. The look on Kara's face was that of almost painful expectation. One finger lifted, reaching out to something seen only to her.  
  
Then the sunrise had come. Pink reflected off Kara's face, illuminating an honest joy in her features. Her eyes sparkled with wonder until she closed them, tilting her head back to bask in the rays of fresh morning light. Aragorn said something quietly to her. She nodded almost imperceptibly, but for the most part she seemed lost in the moment. Then, from his perch in the window, Boromir leaned forward slightly to make sure his eyes didn't deceive him. After a moment he had satisfied himself that he really did see teardrops, shining like diamonds in the sun, dropping from her eyes to the grass below. 


	8. Dinnertime and Bedrolls

((Ok, ok, I know it's been quite a long time since I've updated, but it's only because I've been working like mad on other portions of the story. I now have the entire storyline planned out! Many kudos to Keira (sp?) and Kathykins! It's all good now, and the rest of the story should follow, smooth as silk, or so the saying goes. By the way, for those of you who have asked, Calad Aur means Morning Light in Sindarin, aka Elvin. Thanks, all!))  
  
  
  
  
  
Kara attempted valiantly to rid herself of the nagging feeling that she was going into this noble quest with what she thought of as the most unremarkable character ever designed by the Creator. She had halfway expected some kind of momentous change to seize her and turn her into a graceful lady or a powerful warrior, capable of defending the Nine travellers without breaking a sweat.  
  
Well, she was definately breaking a sweat now, and it wasn't from defending the Nine. It was simply from trying to get everything she had been told to carry into one neat roll. Faradir was watching her with increasing amusement, not offering his help at any point. Kara knew that no one would likely offer their help on the road, but she still wondered just how much unholy delight he was taking in watching her swear at a deformed roll of wool. At last, she felt the buckle click into place, let go of the roll, and dropped to the floor. Faradir now laughed outright. Kara shot a glare up at him.  
  
"Quite amusing. How long until we leave?"  
"You have precisely three days to get that down."  
"Wonderful. Care to give me any pointers?"  
"No."  
"Thank you."  
  
Faradir continued laughing as Kara attempted to straighten her hair. The roll of clothes and utensils began to slither off the bed, and before Kara could catch it, it thudded onto her toe. Kara grunted and rolled her eyes. This day was not going right, and it wasn't even noon. With a deep sigh, she dropped onto the bed next to Faradir. He nudged her a bit.  
  
"Are you all right, little one?" Kara shook her head.  
"I don't even know what I'm doing. People seem to think that because of the prophecy, I'm some kind of indestructable being. But when something happens, I don't know what they expect me to do about it. I'm just a farm girl." Faradir nodded in understanding. He looked at her for a long moment, thinking hard. The silence deepened, allowing Kara to calm down. Finally, Faradir spoke.  
"Interesting. The little ones are from the simplest background imagineable, yet they are the majority of the party. Aside from Frodo, I have never heard any of them question their usefulness. Neither should you question your ability, because it seems to arise at need." Kara nodded slightly. She still wanted to protest, but just at that moment the clock struck noon, signalling the summons to lunch. Faradir patted her arm. Kara smiled at him. They both rose wordlessly and, after Kara kicked her bedroll (not quite on accident, and not quite gently) they made their way into the dining room.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Boromir watched for the girl to enter the dining hall, only half-concentrating on his conversation with Gimli. He wanted to see how she held herself in conversation, if she truly ate like a peasant or comported herself as a lady, and whether or not her facial expressions continued to change like the sun passing behind clouds. The hobbits, he understood. The elves, he understood. But this girl was an enigma, one moment bright as the sun, the next somber. Or, as he had seen in the council, one minute demure and humble, the next spirited and confident. She seemed capable of many things, but what he wanted to know was, who was she in reality? When the capriciousness died away, who did she become?  
  
Finally, they heard Kara's light, soft voice in the hallways outside the room. Faradir was with her. When they entered the room, Aragorn stood politely. Boromir would have followed suit, but Gimli was stepping on his pant leg. Kara surprised them all by executing a courtsey and greeting each one of them with a warm smile. Boromir smiled slightly in return and, wrenching his pant leg viciously from under Gimli's foot, assisted in seating her. He couldn't help but notice a rosy tinge creeping into her cheeks at this. Even in that, she shared a smile with Sam, perhaps sensing that he detested any fuss being made over him as well.   
  
Boromir sat back down between Gimli and Aragorn, then made sure one eye stayed on Kara. She watched quietly as the others were served, graciously accepted her own food, and just as quietly began to eat. Aragorn was the first to speak to her.  
  
"Have you met Bilbo Baggins yet, Kara? I've seen him puttering all around this house." Kara shook her head.  
"No, I've been rather busy trying to keep the attack of a ferocious bedroll at bay." An immodest smirk at Faradir. The elf grinned.  
"She's been trying to learn how to wrap a bedroll all morning. It's been a task indeed."  
"Unaided by the clever-fingered elf designated to assist me."  
"You would never grow if I made it easy for you."  
Kara narrowed her eyes playfully at Faradir. He grinned back irresistably. Aragorn chuckled around a mouthful, swallowed, and announced,  
"I think the elf is victorious by default. Fair Folk are a great deal more innocent-looking than the lady Kara is irritated."  
"Your assistance is most appreciated, my lord."  
Even as Boromir found himself chuckling from behind his water cup, he realized that this was yet another facade the creature was putting on. In his mind, a suspicion was beginning to form. When she was helped into her seat and blushed, and when she glanced across the table and smiled at Sam, that was the mask dropping away. Even if for an instant, that was who this Kara truly was.   
  
Boromir placed down his cup and contemplated. He remembered watching her that morning in the garden. How her eyes danced in the morning light! How her features had glowed with joy! Moreover, and a credit to her character, she seemed to afford no more than average regard to Aragorn when so many were irresistably charmed by the dashing ranger. Once again Boromir observed that she seemed to view every being as equal and unique.   
  
The meal was soon over, and one by one the diners excused themselves to each others' company or the privacy of their rooms. As Boromir left the dining room, he heard a voice behind him.  
"Lord Boromir...wait!" He tuned to see Kara pattering toward her. She wore a simple green dress, unadorned by the stitched patterns or silver trinkets the elves seemed so fond of, nor was it of the rich fabrics or gay colors humans usually preferred. Her hair was down, and she wore no jewelry. Boromir could just see the Mark she bore, bulging out just beneath her throat. She smiled.  
"You always fly so quickly. I've scarce had a chance to speak with you. I feel I'm going into this journey with a stranger." Boromir blinked down at her. She was still smiling.  
"Much has happened, but I didn't mean to leave you ignorant of my character." Kara inclined her head. Her eyes were quizzical.  
"It isn't your character I doubt, my Lord. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply..." The smile was falling away quickly, being replaced by a confused and penitent expression. Boromir chuckled.  
"I was joking with you, dear Lady. In truth, I've been looking for a chance to meet with you."  
  
Conversation flowed easily between the two of them. Though her background was simple, her mind was quick. Even so, she wasn't hasty with her words, often taking long pauses to consider how to respond to something. Boromir came to enjoy these pauses, anticipating what she would say, drinking in the soothing silence. So little solitude in this restful setting, and yet Kara's gentle voice drifted over him soothingly and relaxed him.  
Kara was indeed a study. There seemed to be a menagerie of contradictions hiding just under her carefully maintained mask. She spoke and acted with the utmost gentleness, and yet burst with passion about most everything she cared about. When presented with what most considered to be greatness, she cared little, but her eyes lit up in wonder at the simplest of things: An opening bud, a moth on a tree trunk, closed tight against the daylight, a twig with moss growing on it, a burning candle.   
Boromir found her fascination first amusing, then interesting, then strangely humbling. She was indeed a farm girl, but more observant than he could ever hope to be.   
And yet there were moments, when their conversation lapsed, or when the sun set, or when the breeze blew just a certain way, and her face would fall. The light in her eyes would give way to deep pain. The hand linked into his arm would tremble breifly. It was in the stillness of these moments that Boromir wondered just what scars had been inflicted on her in the past.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
All too soon, the day of their departure dawned. Before the dawn arrived, the Nine, plus one, gathered with their loved ones at the gates of Rivendell. There were a few tears shed. Everyone was leaving something dear behind. The Hobbits left old Bilbo Baggins, Legolas left those of his kind, Aragorn left Arwen. Any fool could see how deeply in love those two were.  
And Kara? Kara left the two elf scouts, Tathren and Faradir. Boromir watched out of the corner of his eye as she clung to them, devoid of the cold distances instilled in nobles from their birth. She wept quietly, her face buried in Tathren's shoulder, one hand clamped around Faradir. Gently, Tathren took Kara's face in her hands and whispered to her. Faradir murmured something quietly, and Kara nodded at him in response. Tathren dried her tears and slipped something into her hand. Kara smiled weakly. The elfin woman brushed Kara's hair out of her face. this time her words were audible.  
"Peaceful journey, sweet Calad Aur." Faradir clasped Kara's hand.  
"When you return, Calad Aur, you have a place here." Kara nodded, then pulled herself away from the two with an almost audible groan.   
Boromir turned to Aragorn with a questioning look. Aragorn nodded, a signal that they were ready to leave. Boromir inflated his lungs, placed his horn to his lips, and sounded. The woods rang with the sound. The hobbits cried out in protest. Bill the pony snorted and pawed, shaking his head. Boromir replaced his horn in his belt.  
"I will not go forward like a theif into the night." He said simply. He fancied he saw Kara staring at him in the corner of his eye. So much the better. If the party were focused on how insane he obviously was, they were less focused on their own fear.  
...Now, if he could just get the rock out of his shoe...buggered thing had been flying around in there for hours. 


	9. No one is who they seem to be

((Hey, peoples! I've finally gotten to a point where things seem to be going smoothly, and despite some health problems this week, I've got two chapters all ready to post! Brace yourself, more to come----much more))  
  
  
  
Kara eased her sore body onto the ground and leaned her back against a boulder. She was glad Aragorn and Gandalf had decided to call a halt. As much as she wanted to appear strong to the Fellowship, she had been about to beg them for a rest.   
  
It was cold on the rockface. The wind blew in frigid but breif gusts, leaving one off-balance and breathless. The sun shone warmly, however, and the party was cheerful. Gimli tramped back and forth over the rocks, raving about the great conquests of the dwarven race. Legolas had his face turned into the sun and away from the wind, peircing eyes scanning the horizon. Merry and Pippin were learning sword fighting from Boromir. Frodo and Sam looked on in amusement. Even Aragorn and Gandalf seemed relaxed.  
  
Kara glanced at Frodo from time to time. She did worry about him, as did the rest of the fellowship. At times she found herself spontaneously placing a hand on his shoulder or pulling him into a hug. Now his blue, blue eyes flickered to her face and Kara caught an inkling of the burden he was bearing. She couldn't take it any more. Being careful of her aching muscles, she pulled herself upright and slipped over to the sheltered seat Frodo occupied.  
  
Frodo watched her sit down next to him wordlessly. Kara felt no need to say anything. The look in his eyes, and the look in hers, spoke volumes. Kara smoothed his mass of curly hair back from his forehead.  
"Rest, little one. You are not alone." Frodo looked at her for a moment, his eyes large and liquid. Kara felt his pain like a knife in her heart. His chest heaved a deep sigh, and the little hobbit leaned over and rested his head on Kara's lap, pulling his knees up to his chest. Her heart bled to see the tears of exhaustion work tracks down his cheeks. She cradled his shoulders with one arm, running her fingers through his hair gently.   
  
Sam watched from a few feet away, the look on his face expressing his emotions with eloquence. He was sick with worry over his master. Kara nodded slightly at him, doing her best to reassure him that all would be well. Sam gave her a doubtful look, then crept a bit closer to Kara and his master. Frodo by now had his eyes closed, tentatively relaxing. Every now and then he would quiver a bit. Sam looked from Frodo back up to Kara. She smiled softly and motioned Sam closer. Cautiously, trying not to wake his master, he slid nearer and sank down on the other side of Kara.   
  
The rest of the party went on with what they were doing. Their voices mingled together into a rising and falling hum. Kara ignored the busy sound, slipping an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Sam hesitated for a moment, then a fatigued shudder rattled his body. Leaning over, he hid his head in Kara's shoulder and sniffled. Kara held the two hobbits gently. There would be time for strength later. Now was a time for weakness and rest. Kara cringed to think how little sleep these two had gotten during their travels. As they began to slip into a drowsing state, Kara shaded their eyes and willed them to give her their pain for just this breif time.  
  
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Boromir watched Kara clasp the little ones out of the corner of his eye, all the time keeping up with the clumsy but quick blows Pippin was dealing him. From time to time he managed to freeze an image of her in his mind for a few seconds. She was leaning against the rockface, almost buried under the two hobbits. She held a hand over their eyes to sheild them from the dim beams of the sun. Locks of red hair had pulled loose from her braid and whipped across her cheeks, shining like burnished bronze. Her eyes blazed protectively, and the way she chewed her lip and watched the landscape made Boromir wonder just how she would react to someone approaching them. Of one thing he was certain, he wasn't going to try it.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by a cry from Legolas, immediately followed by a sheet of black blotting out the sun. As the hundreds of birds flew overhead and he ducked underneath a rock, he chastised himself for being distracted.   
  
Then again, who would expect an innocent flock of death-black birds flying straight toward them to be anything noticeable?  
  
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Kara had never liked the dark.  
  
It felt as if the tunnels and halls of Moria were about to swallow her whole. She screwed up her vision to attempt to see into the murky depths every so often. The ironlike vise of blackness closed over her eyes like a cloak. Kara tried not to shiver as she tripped over skeletons and heard them shatter and roll into the dark.   
  
In addition to this, Kara felt the faintest burning on her chest. It was little more than a warm glow compared to what she had felt before, but it was enough to put her on her guard.   
  
The mood had shifted dramatically since the flock of birds had flown overhead, spying out their position, forcing them to flee underground when all was done. Gimli was closed-mouthed, and understandably so. His kinsmen lay dead at his feet. There was little to no hope for his relatives, though no one said so. The hobbits didn't like this cold underground business. They liked topsoil and rich clay, not rock and echoing halls. They kept in a little clump, cheering each other and the non-hobbits as well as they could.  
  
Aragorn was somber and serious, trying his very best to be a strong leader. Legolas, along with Kara, was doing his best to see into the dark, intensely disliking the dim atmosphere. Gandalf said little, leading the way with his staff. Kara was almost sure he was terrified, though he wouldn't admit it.  
  
As for Boromir, he seemed fixed on making sure the company was relatively safe. He insisted on walking single file over the narrow bridges, ensured that there were enough rations, water, and blankets to go around, and from time to time walked beside one person or another in an attempt to cheer them.  
  
When it was Kara's turn, she couldn't help but assert that it was a moot point.  
  
"Really, Boromir..." She murmured quietly---Gandalf insisted they keep their voices quiet always. "I'm all right. You should be more worried about Gimli. I can only imagine what he's going through."  
"Gimli is proud. What he feels he must feel alone. Any intrusion would only deepen his difficulty. You, on the other hand, look as troubled as the wizard. It doesn't befit you." Kara smiled humorlessly.  
"I suppose you could say my mark is giving me a constant warning siren. It isn't severe, but it's enough to, as you say, trouble me." Kara sighed deeply.  
"Nothing makes sense any more. I have no idea what I'm doing here, no idea what I should be doing. I've only killed one living being in my life, now I'm supposed to protect or destroy the fellowship, or whatever?" Kara found her eyes stinging. Quickly, she wiped away tears, willing herself to stop being weak, to stop wanting to fold. Boromir placed a hand on her shoulder. The unexpected kindness made her choke, and another thought drove out all the others.  
"Do you know how long it's been since I've seen a sunrise?"  
  
They had dropped behind the rest of the fellowship, hanging back at the edge of the light emitted from Gandalf's staff. Boromir's feet made a muffled thudding sound. Its rhythm gave Kara something to focus on. The despair wore at her muscles, dragging her down into the abyss on either side of the trail. All that kept her going was a driving fear at her heels, just as it had when she left her family's home. Fear of failure, fear of loneliness, fear of the cold and the dark and of losing her way and never finding it again. Her heart pounded at what lay ahead, and what lay behind. Numbness was the only option, no option at all, her only lifeline and the death that gripped her.   
  
The only person that was even trying to break through the fog said nothing, walking beside her in a warm silence. His mere presence assured her that there was something solid in the world, something that would not evaporate in the heat of her confusion. Kara stole sideway glances at him from time to time.   
  
The rest of the fellowship regarded him as proud and foolish. He was proud. Kara, naïve as she was, could easily see that. But his pride stemmed out of a rich knowledge of who he was, and from the deep love he carried for his heritage, his home, and his people. For that, Kara was almost envious.  
  
And there was another aspect to him. Though he seemed to get lost when the larger picture was discussed, he had an uncanny grasp of the here and now. The members of the fellowship seemed to be his highest concern. With every suggestion he made it was reflected. Like the love he bore for his people, he seemed to love the lives of the people he now traveled with. Even the tiny hobbits that seemed to so frustrate the others held a special place with him.  
  
Kara was roused out of her thoughts by Boromir's hand once again on her shoulder.  
  
"You said nothing made sense any more. That is a curiosity of life. They say everything begins to make sense just before you die. I know that is of little help, but consider this: No member of the fellowship knows just what he is to do here. Even the wizard is uncertain. If you were prophesied about, you have more assurance than any of us." His voice was soft-toned and musical, almost as if he were singing a lullaby. Kara couldn't help but remember watching him train the hobbits with their swords. Sam was so painfully shy, but Boromir patiently worked his way through the self consciousness. Merry and Pippin refused to take it seriously, but somehow they had gone from play to serious to play and then back again. Her lips pulled back into a tender smile, remembering their childlike laughter. The hand on shoulder squeezed gently.  
  
"Calad Aur. You let the rest of us see a sunrise each time you smile."  
Kara looked down a little, her lips still tugged back gently. Boromir laughed softly.  
"I remember seeing you when you watched the sunrise. There is no way someone could know the sunlight the way you do and not carry it with her wherever she goes." He reached out and brushed her cheek with one finger.  
"Even the tears you cry are jewels." He pulled them to a stop and tilted her chin toward him.   
"The fellowship could not lose you." His voice dropped to an even softer whisper.  
"I could not lose you, Calad Aur." Kara felt his warm breath across her cheeks, turning cold on the tracks the tears made. She leaned closer to him, blocking out everything but his warmth, letting it drive away the cold of the mines for the first time in days.  
  
"Boromir! Kara! You fools, don't stray from the light!" Kara ripped her face away from his hand and whirled around. Her dark eyes shot daggers at the wrinkled prune of a wizard that now walked away from them, as if his words had instilled some kind of wisdom in their vacant skulls.  
  
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Boromir watched Kara stare at Gandalf's back. Then, the corner of his eye caught movement. Aragorn stood at the edge of the shadows watching them. The look on his face did not bode well. Boromir did not look forward to being alone with him in the next few days.   
  
Many things could happen in the dark. 


	10. Night too dark for a candle

((See, what did I tell you? Chapters are popping out ninety to nothing! I've got another one in the works! So very excited. Thank you for all your kind reviews, more thank yous to Keiraboo and Kathykins, as well as to Kate! Also, a special thank you to those of you who have reassured me that my writings stir emotion and laughter. With as much as is going on in my life right now, it's good to know I can still make people more aware of the beauty inherent in everything))  
  
  
  
As the group continued to walk, Boromir refused to abandon his place at Kara's side until she told him to do so. Fierce looks from Aragorn aside, she needed to know that there was strength and refuge from loneliness and fear. Whether she wanted that refuge or not, he was determined that it would be there in the shape of an arrogant and irritating leader of men walking beside her.  
  
  
At last, they came to a stop. The hobbits needed rest, and Gandalf needed time to consider their path. Kara looked distracted. Every now and then her face would twitch, or she would place a hand just below her throat. Boromir finally dared to break into her silence.  
"Are you all right?"  
"No." Kara's voice was deep and burning, with almost pained overtones. Her hands were pressed flat to the cold rock beneath her, eyes darting around the cavern. Suddenly, she leapt to her feet.  
"Legolas, do you hear something?" Her voice was infinitely quiet, one hand on Boromir's shoulder. Legolas broke himself out of his conversation with Pippin.  
"...No, I don't believe so. Why?" Kara glanced down at Boromir, then began to walk around the perimeter of their light, standing at the edge of the beams and gazing into the dark. Legolas joined her in looking and listening. Boromir watched them, a bit startled.  
  
After a few minutes, Kara was still prowling about and staring into the darkness. Boromir had just started to relax, watching her slow rhythm of pacing, when he felt someone sit down beside him. He tensed.   
"She is not strong enough to resist you." Aragorn muttered to Boromir quietly. Boromir turned to look at the man sitting beside him. Aragorn continued.  
"Kara is not a cool aristocrat. She is a child, a girl accustomed to abuse in place of affection, curses instead of encouragement. Just now she is more confused than she has ever been in her life. She is not ready for a lover." Boromir blinked at Aragorn, and opened his mouth to answer.   
  
Just then, Kara spoke.  
  
"I'll be back. If I don't return in ten minutes, go on without me. I'll catch up with you."  
  
Boromir watched, startled, as Kara pushed off from the place where she stood and   
sprinted lightly over the rocks that sprouted up to one side of the path. Gone was the slightly clumsy and simple girl. She darted into the shadows with ease, disappearing before any of them could protest.   
Merry jumped up, momentarily forgetting about the cake of waybread he had been chewing on.  
"We have to go after her! She'll get lost." Gandalf silenced him with a look.  
"As will you, Meriadoc. We are all safer staying on the road." The wizard slowly rose, watching the shadows ominously. Almost to himself, he mumbled, "She has the aid of her Mark. She will be safe."  
Boromir strained his eyes, fancying that he could see her white-clad form departing. He was not so sure about their safety, even less so about hers.  
  
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Kara's breast burned again. She remembered the exact moment it had started, flaring through her body like hot lava. It was the burning that made her jump up and begin prowling like a restless animal, and the burning that drove her to speed off the trail into the shadows.  
  
She had no idea what she was doing now, sprinting over the rocks in the darkness like a shadow, but she knew she was pursuing something, and that it was fleeing from her. She heard the soft pattering of feet ahead of her. Closer and closer they grew, her footsteps flying faster and more sure, her body once again consumed by fire. There was just enough light for her to see a dark, crouching shape, moving in front of her at a rapid pace, hands low to the ground.  
  
Blood thundered in her ears. Again and again, she asked herself why she was running after this thing. Probably the question that should have been foremost in her mind was, how was she catching up with it? The thing was going at lightning speed and was obviously more well-adapted to the caves than she was. But the fire drove her on, and she drew closer to the shape. It dodged and darted. Just as quickly, she ran after it, zigzagging, bewildered at how she was able to anticipate the movements.  
  
At last, the thing stumbled, rolling into a small fold of rock with a thud. Kara leapt over a small collection of stones and skidded to a stop, cornering the ghastly creature. before it could recover itself enough to attack, she drew her daggers and braced her feet.  
  
"Why were you following us?" She demanded. Two lamplike eyes turned on her, illuminating pale green skin and webbed feet. It was crouched over so that the rest of its shape was hidden, but as it trembled and heaved from exertion, Kara got the feeling that it had once been much different. She caught in its eyes a long history of pain and torture. His sides and stomach bore scars that were not quite healed, and open wounds, seeping pus and stinking of decay. Its lips trembled, a small tongue flicking over them periodically in a nervous gesture. The flipperlike hands fidgeted. It did not answer her, aside from a swallowing noise deep in its throat.  
"WHY were you FOLLOWING us?" Kara took a step closer. How she wanted to take pity on this creature and just let it go! But her voice was no longer her own, and Kara got the feeling that to resist would be unwise. The thing cried out in fear at her agressive reprimand.  
"Don't hurt usss! Gollum. We just wants our present, yes. Just wants the precious, then we chews a fish and goes home." Kara took a step back, startled. This was Gollum...Smeagol, the wretched creature that was enslaved to the One Ring. It must have been following them, it was anyone's guess how long.  
"Gollum! Not nice lady, no. Big nasssty eyess, hurts us with bladesss, yes, my preciouss."  
"ENOUGH!" Kara roared. The burning pain shooting through her was almost too much. A dull glow came from the mark on her chest, illuminating the cavernous dark still more. She could feel her knees beginning to buckle. A few moments of ominous silence allowed her to pull in a deep breath or two. More quietly, she continued.  
"The ring is not yours. We will not give it back to you. Leave us alone, or I swear by the breath I breathe that I will kill you." This was not her voice coming out of her. It was someone else entirely. The voice was soft but powerful and unmistakeably serious. Kara resisted the temptation to clutch at her chest as the creature continued to beg her not to hurt it.   
"Big, bright eyesss! Don't look at usss. Nice precious, we wants to go home. Agh! Gollum. Light hurts usss. Minesss don't gots no water...hurts our foots, it does. No places to catch fishies." Kara stared for a moment, then slowly backed away.  
"Leave."  
The one word was enough to fairly shake the tunnel. Kara stumbled back with the force of it. Taking the opportunity, Gollum darted past her. Kara whirled to watch it run away on all fours, making a deep noise in its throat. Kara stepped out after it, looking for the path she had come down.  
  
Nothing looked familiar. There were several split tunnels in front of her. They bore no indication which path she had taken. Kara sighed deeply, then undid her bodice enough to see the mark on her chest. It had begun to emit an odd, pulsating light. It throbbed in time with her heartbeats, illuminating the passages. Kara calmly accepted her glowing chest as a reality of life, and brushed her fingers fondly over the amulet.  
"Well, where to now? Whoever you are, you're supposed to know what's about to happen. Where should I go?" Kara leaned against the tunnel wall, not expecting an answer, but remarkably calm and accepting of her predicament.  
  
Then, the light shimmering on the walls began to narrow itself. Over a course of about thirty seconds, it gathered itself together into a single point in the tunnel wall. K blinked.  
"...I'm afraid there's no tunnel there."  
The light, to no great surprise, didn't answer. It just continued pointing matter-of-factly at the wall. Kara crossed to the other side of the tunnel, then bent over to examine the spot of light. Quietly, she ran her fingers around the area. The wall seemed to be curving into a deep shadow. Kara turned so that the light cast itself into the shadow. The tunnel wall folded into a nice hollow space, leading into the mountains.  
"Oh. How handy. A tunnel."  
Kara ran for hours. The tunnel seemed to lead on and on. Kara would have turned back, except for a breath of fresh air that brushed against her face every so often. With any luck, she would break outside the mines at the same time as the Fellowship. The fire in her once again came to her aid, driving her to run without fatigue, assisting her in leaping with some semblance of grace over the small piles of rocks that littered the tunnel floor. On she ran, incapable of thinking any further than the next step. Always, that odd light cast itself eerily on the walls.  
Finally, the smell of fresh air was unmistakeable, and as Kara turned the corner she brought a hand to her eyes. The sun shone into the tunnel, reflecting off the snow of the mountaintop and striking her eyes painfully. It made her giggle and turn her face into the beams in greeting. After so long in the mines, her body throbbed with joy at being allowed to breathe in the cold breeze and squint in the sun. 


	11. Should I believe or should I doubt?

(('Kay, I know Kathy, keira, and Cait are going to lynch me, but i've only written two chapters this week----HOWEVER Next week I'll more than likely post three to four chapters, so be ready! Have fun, and thank you all for your kind reviews. ::swoon!: You like me! You really really like me!))  
  
  
  
After a moment, Kara looked around and realized there was no sign of the Fellowship. The snow was unsullied except for her own footprints. Kara walked all around the rockface she had emerged from. She could neither see nor hear any sign of them. The fire in her still burned, spreading outward from the pendant fused into her breast. She looked down at the Mark she bore and muttered.  
"Where from here? Where is the ringbearer?" At the word Ringbearer, her chest inflated almost to the point of pain. Kara cringed, then watched the scenery begin to move past as her feet began to fly through the snow.   
  
Kara had not been running long when a sound startled her. It was distant and faint, but she knew it well. It was the sound of sobbing. Kara slowed down and made her way slowly around a boulder that jutted out from the mountainside. The rocks were slippery, and she had to go slow to keep steady. She could now hear faint and familiar voices, and sucked in her breath. It was the fellowship. Kara's heart fluttered with joy, giving her the strength to leap out from behind the rock.  
  
Her stomach sank at what she saw.  
  
Those of the group that were not weeping bitterly carried an expression that stabbed Kara like a knife. Their eyes looked around blindly, uncomprehending of what they saw. A fog of pain caused any that tried to walk to stumble.  
  
And Gandalf was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Kara's feet now felt leaden as she staggered toward her friends. Aragorn and Boromir were arguing. Both men's eyes were filled with tears. Kara could understand little of what was said. They did not notice her as she crept closer. Finally, she spoke.  
"What happened?"  
The two turned and looked at her with startled eyes.  
"Kara...we didn't know what had become of you, little one." Aragorn tried to smile.  
"What happened?" She repeated, her heart thudding inside her chest. Boromir placed a hand gently on her shoulder.  
"Gandalf has fallen."  
  
  
The trip into Mirkwood was a blur for Kara. She neither asked what had happened to Gandalf, nor was she told. She simply walked beside Frodo and Sam, an arm around each of their shoulders. A numbing guilt ate at her heart, blocking out even the fire that still burned in her chest. She had left the fellowship, left her responsibility. Now she was at fault for the death of Gandalf the Grey, as wise as he was ancient. In him the greatest hope of the party had rested, and with him it had died. She could not help but feel responsibility.  
  
Kara scarcely noticed Gimli's speech about the danger of these woods. The only words she offered to the conversation were to assure the hobbits of their safety. They passed streams and crossed a rushing river on a ridiculous rope-bridge. Kara took no notice. The Mark would allow her to cross it easily enough.  
"Be careful..." Boromir cautioned her as he boosted her onto the makeshift highway. Kara paused for a moment, looking down at the abyss of his pain-filled eyes. Another swell of grief and guilt rushed up in her. Reaching down, she brushed a hand across his cheek. She was rewarded with a bittersweet smile that only twisted her heart more.  
"I'm so sorry, Boromir." Before he could say anything to respond or question, she turned and began making her way across the web of ropes.  
  
When Haldir and the other elves showed themselves, Kara paid little attention. She didn't protest the blindfold slipped over her eyes, simply held fast to her guide's arm and let whatever Force that controlled the Mark guide her feet. Once or twice, the elf that conducted her tried to speak with her in the common tongue. Kara whispered a minimal response, nothing more. The elf seemed to be taking pity on her.  
"You have nothing to fear from us, my lady." Kara couldn't help but laugh, an angry, bitter sound that startled even her with its unfamiliar tone.  
"It is not you I fear. If you were a danger to us, I would already know." From somewhere near her, Aragorn murmured for her to calm down. Kara's throat squeezed out a sigh, but she remained silent.  
  
When the blindfold was removed from her eyes, Kara found herself in Lothlorien. Here was another legend made reality for her. As they were led through the moonlit stairways, Kara listened to the trees whisper in the night air. They seemed sad, as if they knew the grief the visitors bore.  
  
Then they were brought into the throne room of Galadriel. Kara would have been overawed by the queen in her normal state of mind. As it was, she simply acknowledged her with a deep courtsey when introduced, then allowed her mind to wander again. The fiery glow was dying down. Fatigue was beginning to take over.  
  
Then, out of the midst of her whirling thoughts, Kara saw a vision, clear as day. Even when Kara snapped her eyes shut, the waking dream played in front of her. Each one of the fellowship, in turn, brutally murdered. She herself was nowhere to be seen. One by one she watched her friends meet their death. The hobbits, emaciated and somber, run through by orcs, Legolas speared through the chest, Aragorn beheaded, Boromir thrown off a cliff by a nameless black creature.   
  
Boromir. Kara's chest clenched. She found it hard to breathe. The voice of Galadriel whispered in her mind.  
"Bearer of the Mark, we greet you. Your task has only begun...if you still accept it." Then Kara saw another vision, one of peace. A small house near Rivendell, a chance to study the ancient texts and learn from the wisest elves, and a beloved husband...It seemed that she was offering her a gentler life, a chance to turn back. Kara's head snapped up to look at the elvin queen. Galadriel continued to speak calmly to the rest of the fellowship, offering them refuge from the hard journey and time to grieve. Only once did she look at Kara, and that was to smile in kind acknowledgement.  
  
Kara found it hard to hear. She felt the same weakness overtaking her as she had felt after her first orc kill. Her knees were buckling. Reaching out, she caught herself on Sam's low shoulder. Sam looked at her curiously. His cheeks were ruddy, as obviously the queen had just spoken in his mind as well. He scarcely dared to speak in Galadriel's presence, but at last he leaned over and whispered,   
"Miss Kara are you all right? You look a little...off, if you see my meaning." Kara didn't bother to answer him. All her concentration was on not falling in the presence of the queen.  
  
darted a look at Kara, then made a motion with her right hand to the rest of the group.  
"Come." The word was soft enough from the queen's lips, but its force inside Kara's mind rocked her. She began to fall.  
  
Two sets of hands caught and steadied her, placing her upright again. Galadriel seemed to take no notice, but something in Kara was sure the elf was looking at them hard. Aragorn took Kara's arm gently, leaving her to be supported by the other pair of hands.   
"Are you all right, little one?" Kara nodded slightly, her features pinched with pain. Galadriel was walking ahead of them swiftly, her feet making no noise on the ground. The hobbits, Legolas, and Gimli trailed after her. Aragorn and Boromir urged Kara to follow, though they allowed her to lag behind. In an attempt to distract herself from the deathly fatigue, Kara looked up at Boromir's face, seeking strength there.   
  
Boromir was pale, his lips turning a whitish tint. His hands were still warm, but they trembled. Kara squeezed his hand firmly. He would not look down at her, though Kara tried repeatedly to catch his eye. Aragorn wore much the same look, though to a lesser degree. In fact, Kara was sure she felt a tremor of discomfort through the entire fellowship eminating from the elf queen's burning gaze. 


	12. Deep enough to dream...

((Okay, none of these guys are mine except for Kara, blah blah. By the way, since I know some of you are probably gonna ask, this is by NO means the last chapter. Oh no, no, no.))  
  
  
  
Kara slept for a long time. In her deep dreamworld, everything fell together. For hours on end she floated in a blissful state of uncaring ignorance, never wanting to know or see or do anything again.  
After a time had passed, however, she began to feel restless. There was something she needed to do, she was sure of it. Fighting against her own mind that above all else desired a ceasure from pain, she broke through the surface of consciousness.  
  
She was outdoors. Everything in Lothlorien seemed to be outside. Her bed was a patch of soft grass beneath an ancient old tree. The breeze brushed her face gently, bringing with it the sweet smell of greenery and earth. Kara stirred and turned her head.  
  
Boromir sat at her feet, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The pain dwelling there made Kara want to go to him. Her body, traitor that it was, refused to cooperate. All she could manage to do was reach out and touch his arm. Boromir twitched slightly, then turned to look at her.  
"You've been asleep all day." Kara nodded.  
"It helps me to escape the nightmares." Boromir twisted slightly, eyes searching her face.  
"Nightmares are not an uncommon occurrence nowdays. Most of the little ones cannot sleep any more."   
"It is upon waking that my dreams begin...some good, some frightening." Kara struggled for a moment to sit up, returning Boromir's gaze.  
"And you...what haunts your sleep?" Boromir looked down.  
"Why should anything disturb my dreams?" His tone was guarded. Kara reached out and took his chin in one hand.  
"Don't try to avoid me. What did you see when Galadriel touched your mind?" Again, Boromir tensed. Kara immediately felt a wave of regret for asking that of him.  
"I'm....sorry. The vision was your own, not mine to ask." Kara drew her hand away and focused her vision on the ground. Boromir touched her shoulder.  
"Don't try to avoid me." A half-smile broke past the pain in his expression. Kara chewed her lip and met his eyes silently.  
"I saw...many things I did not want to see. I saw Gondor in ruins, its people enslaved. I saw my father impaled on her towers." His eyes began to fill with tears.  
"...And I saw you. Herded among a vile mass of creatures...servants of Sauron. I did nothing to stop them...couldn't move." His face was beginning to pale again. Kara heard his heartbeat as it thudded against his ribs.  
"...Then I heard the queen speak to me, and the vision faded into...something else. It seemed to me that she was giving me a chance to go home, to preserve myself...and the ones I love." Kara's breathing stopped. He hesitated, then continued.  
"What she offered me was terrifying in the ease with which I could grasp it. It was so close...but then everything faded away." Boromir seemed to be focusing on the horizon again, dark eyes drilling into the clouds as if they held some secret from him. His jaw was tight with suppressed emotion, from love to hate and every impulse in between. Kara knew his confusion, shared in his anguish. Wordlessly, she reached out and touched his arm. Boromir turned toward her again, a single tear working its way down his face.  
"You asked me what haunts my dreams...the only one that haunts my dreams stands in front of me now. It is my nightmares that are unhaunted, empty and meaningless." Boromir reached out and put an arm around Kara, drawing her closer. Kara's eyes were doing their best to drill into his soul as she listened to his breath.  
"Why do you pursue me?" She whispered. "I'm a farm girl, nothing more. I am certainly not a great lady. That is what you deserve. Why should a great man like you hold any interest in me?" Her eyes burned, almost daring him to give her a satisfactory answer. His gaze caught hers and held fast.  
"You are no more a farm girl than I am a great man. I do not deserve you, but I cannot bear to let you go." Boromir tilted her chin back, stroking her cheek with one finger. Leaning down slightly, he let his lips brush against her face. Kara tensed. A floodgate of emotions stood ready to burst. She feared his gentleness, terrified that betrayal was emminent, expecting affection to turn into pain and greif at any given moment. She felt torn in two. The deep scar on her heart shrank from even the possibility of another wound. In the past, love had been nothing more than a razor-sharp knife pressing into her breast. Why should she expect it to differ now? Her mind raced, thoughts coming and going with each explosive heartbeat. Tears slipped past the iron wall she had erected, sliding down her cheeks in crystal trails. The warmth snapped her out of her panicked spin.   
  
Boromir still held her gently. It was not the viselike grip of her uncle, nor the chilling public embrace of her aunt. His eyes were alight with genuine affection---not searing anger or disgust. A calm voice spoke inside her head, pointing these things out to her one by one. Kara relaxed, and gently placed a hand on Boromir's chest. He smiled just a little, then bent down and pressed his lips against hers softly.  
  
Kara's eyelids fluttered. She hesitated at first, then found herself leaning into the embrace. Boromir ran a fingertip over the angle of her jaw, drawing her closer, deepening their kiss. Kara sighed deeply, smoothing her hand across his shirt up to his collarbone. Boromir caught her hand with one of his, threading their fingers together. With infinite care, he broke the kiss, then pressed his lips to Kara's temple. Another jerky sigh squeezed from her throat. She nuzzled his hair, inhaling the comforting scent of sweat and dried grass and rain.   
  
Still clasping her around the waist with one arm, Boromir leaned back against the kind old tree that spread its branches over them. Kara sighed softly and snuggled against his chest. She heard Boromir chuckle softly, and opened one eye.  
"What's so funny?" The hand at her waist squeezed comfortingly.  
"I was just thinking...how many are able to say they have kissed the morning light?"  
  
Kara smiled at the whimsical statement. Heaven knew they had had too much reality lately. She was glad to hear a play on words, and a lovely sentiment to boot. All too soon, they would have to leave the little sanctuary. The real world would impose itself, weave its cruel threads into their existance, shatter the cut glass window of tranquility. The only question was, how and when would this pressure come?  
And if they did love each other, would it stand the test of fire? 


	13. Hanging By a Moment

((Hellow, people! This is my favorite chapter so far, and it's rather long, so enjoy!))  
  
  
  
*Desperate for changing  
Starving for truth  
Closer to where I started chasing after you*  
  
Boromir glanced across the table at Kara. She wasn't looking at him, aside from an occasional glance. To all appearances she was engaged in a conversation with Legolas. He was telling her how lembas was made. Their speech was cluttered with Sindarin. The words falling off her tongue made a musical chiming sound. It reminded Boromir of a fresh breeze blowing away stale air. Every now and then a hint of a smile would aim itself at him. Boromir reeled. So many false grins had been hurled at him from across ballroom floors at palace functions, so many false lines handed to him on a platter, probably whispered tips from a mother eager to have her daughter wed. Kara, conversely, shunned any falseness.   
  
He had thought, when they first met, that she was just one wall after another. Now he saw nothing more than different parts of her personality coming to the fore as they were needed. She had no more walls than Gimli had table manners.  
  
  
*I'm falling even more in love with you  
Letting go of all I've held onto*  
  
Kara was a study. Every action she made broke patterns set by humanity. He knew she had gone through pain and torment to become who she was, but Boromir saw no bitterness about her. The struggles were just another part of life, and they had served their purpose. With every word she spoke, every action she took, every thought she expressed, Boromir fell in love with her all over again.  
  
*I'm standing here until you make me move  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you*  
  
From time to time, Aragorn cast an apprehensive look, first to Boromir, then to Kara. The message was clear. "I warned you to stay away from her. Now look what you've done." Boromir forced his expression to be calm and steady. He did not feel guilty for his actions, and he would not recant them. The only one that would persuade him to back away, to leave off his pursuit, was Kara. Only a direct order from her to go away would dissuade him. Until then, there was no option. He would not move.  
  
*Forgetting all I'm lacking  
Completely Incomplete*  
  
The party left Lothlorien all too soon. There was a general air of unfinished business, of not wanting to leave. Boromir scarcely noticed. Kara was there. Though he scarcely dared to touch her or even speak to her in the presence of the fellowship, she made the almost painful seperation bearable. The heaviness that had seemed to posess her after Gandalf's death was held at bay now. She worked with a purpose, taking an almost motherly attitude toward the others.   
  
As they rowed along in the little boats provided them, Kara sang or spoke softly, sometimes pulling the others into it. She even persuaded Gimli to teach them a dwarfish song or two. For a time, his deep bass and her soft, clear soprano harmonized. The hobbits improvised little dances in their seats while Legolas and Aragorn watched with delight.   
  
When they camped, Kara remained nominally busy. Boromir worked beside her as much as he could. Every so often the wind would shift or she would turn her head quickly and he would catch the scent of her hair. When that happened he would stop what he was doing for just a moment and watch her. Kara would glance at him, face full of tenderness and love. Her deep eyes caressed his face, bringing to his mind images of far away places that existed only in the depths of a dreamworld. Then she would glance away, go back to her task, silently pleading for him to stay close to her. Boromir gladly obliged.   
  
Sleep came quickly that night. The only goodnight he was able to offer Kara was a longing look across the blazing camp fire between their two paletts.  
  
Hours later, he awakened to the sound of soft humming. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The stars above him were faded, but the moon still shone brightly. Kara knelt next to him, her eyes fixed immovably on the horizon.  
  
"How long have you been there?" Kara stirred, looked down at him, and smiled sweetly.  
"Not too long. It's a lovely night." Boromir sat up, then noiselessly stood, offering his hand. Kara grasped it. Her little fingers were cold. Boromir drew her upright, then clasped her hands in his. Kara pulled in a deep breath and rested her forehead on his shoulder. Her loosened hair fell and brushed against his forearm. Boromir smiled and tucked it behind her ear.  
  
*I'll take your invitation  
You take all of me*  
  
Arm in arm, they slipped away from the campsite into the woods, seeking out a clearing where they could watch the sunrise. Few words were exchanged. Their mood rendered conversation useless. Boromir had all he could do just drinking in her presence, looking at her without fear of others seeing. As soon as a clearing was found, Boromir turned her to face him and clamped his hands gently on her arms.  
"Hold still." He whispered softly, voice fervent with desperation. Kara blinked questioningly, but complied calmly, without a word. Gently, Boromir reached up and stroked the edges of her face.. Over the soft skin of her neck, down her shoulders and arms, he took in her features like a man dying of thirst. He breathed in her scent deeply, watched her eyebrows knit and her eyes pool with tears.   
  
Before they could spill onto her cheeks, he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him, kissing each eyelid. Her breath brushed against his face as she sighed, then leaned closer to nuzzle her way into his chest. Boromir clasped her softly, scarcely daring to hold her any closer for fear that she would dissolve like a dream.  
  
Then he felt her turn her head, rest her cheek against his shoulder. He followed the direction of her gaze out to the east horizon. It was dark, but still they watched together in silence.  
  
Then the sun broke over the horizon. Its beams hit them warmly. Kara shuddered with a force that made Boromir pull her closer, would have made him worry had it not been followed immediately by a giggle.  
  
*I'm living for the only thing i know  
I'm running and not quite sure where to go*  
  
Too soon, the sun was up and they heard distant sounds of the camp rousing. Boromir sighed and whispered softly,   
"You had better go back, Calad Aur. I'll gather some firewood, then follow you." She nodded, and he pulled her closer for a lingering kiss.   
  
Then she was gone. Her pattering footsteps faded into the forest. Boromir smiled and set about gathering an armload of firewood.  
  
As soon as he stepped out of the trees into the camp he knew something was wrong. Though the hobbits tramped about jovially and Gimli and Legolas shared something akin to banter, Kara's singing was painfully absent. She was hunched over the fire, eyebrows knit, tears falling into the ashes she stirred.   
  
Boromir started toward her, but his way was blocked by Aragorn. The look on the Ranger's face made Boromir want to hit him. He wasn't sure how, but Boromir knew the other was responsible for Kara's tears.  
  
"Come with me." Aragorn muttered quietly. Boromir paused for a moment, then moved to follow him.   
  
*I don't know what I'm diving into  
I'm hanging by a moment here with you*  
  
They walked until they were out of earshot from the rest of the camp. Then, abruptly Boromir turned and drilled Aragorn with a glare.  
"What did you say to Kara? Why was she crying?" Aragorn sighed. shaking his head.  
"I told her not to leave the others again. Nothing more."  
"Then why was she crying?"  
"Kara is perceptive. Perhaps she guessed what I was about to do."  
"Which was?" Aragorn regarded Boromir's irked face for a moment.  
"Forbid her to be alone with you any more." Boromir tensed.  
"...Who are you to forbid her to do anything?" Aragorn sighed again.  
"Boromir, be reasonable, please. You know as well as I do that she isn't equipped to handle the role she has with the Fellowship, let alone the feelings she has for you. Even if you are absolutely sure of what you are doing, she is not. If she is simply responding to the emotions she senses from you....Boromir, that isn't love, that's servitude."   
Boromir flinched as if he had been struck. Aragorn's eyes immediately registered regret at his words. He did not try to retract them, knowing that would only make it worse. With a slow nod, Boromir turned on his heel and walked slowly, sedately away from Aragorn.  
  
*There is nothing else to lose  
There is nothing else to find*  
  
Boromir walked for a long time---he lost consciousness of just how long. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. When he came to himself, even partially, he was face-to-face with Frodo. A kind of burning madness posessed Boromir, control ripped away from him. Before he knew it, he was fighting, pulling, grabbing at the little hobbit. Unwarranted feelings of hatred and jealousy dug into him.  
  
Then he was left alone, face buried in the leaves, sobbing with remorse over his own actions. It was as though a monster had taken hold of him, and now left him to pick up the shattered peices of his honor.   
  
Out of the fog of his tears, he felt small hands grasping onto his shoulders, shaking him, heard a beloved voice breaking through his guilt. Boromir clenched his teeth, pushing her away.  
"Leave me. Please. You don't know what I've become."  
"Boromir..."  
"I'm a monster...You've no idea what I'm capable of..."  
"Boromir..."  
"Just leave me alone...I'm a..."  
"BOROMIR! SHUT UP!" Boromir jerked, then fell silent. Kara held his face between her hands with a grip of surprising strength, forcing him to look at her.  
  
*There is nothing in the world  
That could change my mind*  
  
"I saw, Boromir. I saw everything that happened. Boromir, it wasn't....LISTEN TO ME!" Kara shook him as his eyes began to fill with tears.  
"It wasn't your fault! The power of the ring turns the purest of souls into black shreds. You know as well as I do how it nearly corrupted Bilbo, who didn't even know what power it held. Even Frodo isn't immune. You were about to break down as it was. The ring saw an opportunity to get back to its old master, and it seized it! It has nothing to do with how strong you are, or how good you are. You are still Boromir, still a good man, and I still love you, now more than ever." Boromir reached up and grasped her wrists, gently prying her hands off her face. His jaw clenched to stop the trembling. Tears still streamed from his eyes.  
"...How can you still love me?" Kara's eyes were alight with gentleness. Her tears mingled with his.  
"You have to ask?"  
  
*There is nothing else*  
  
They sat in the woods for a moment. Kara held Boromir tightly, stroking his hair. Boromir slowly forced himself to calm down.  
  
Then, without warning, Kara yelped and tensed. Boromir sat upright and looked at her. Her face was twisted, her eyes filled with fear.  
"Something's coming. We have to get back to camp."  
"Are you sure?" Kara grimaced and pulled the neckline of her tunic down just a little. Beneath the fabric, her mark glowed with white-hot intensity.  
  
Boromir scrambled to his feet, pulling Kara with him. She ran with such speed Boromir had difficulty keeping up. Long before they reached the camp, they heard sounds of battle, saw the black shadows of things too horrible to name. Boromir put his horn to his lips and sounded. Still he ran at Kara's heels. The last vestiges of morning light shone on their backs.  
  
*Desperate for changing  
Starving for truth  
Closer to where I started chasing after you* 


	14. Even the Sun Must Set

((A few notes....First of all, I want to continue to assure my faithful readers that this is by no means the last chapter. But, first things first! Translation for the sindarin in this chapter is at the bottom. Many thanks to Keira for writing the poetic bit, and I hope you'll forgive me for doing a bit of editing on it. ----Actually, many thanks to Keira for kicking my butt into starting this chapter and then helping me write it!!! Anyway, Enjoy it. I promise, promise, PROMISE there'll be some comic relief in the next chapter....or so.))  
  
  
  
Burning had become familiar to Kara. Burning emotions, burning thoughts, burning soul, and burning body. It was all the same in the end, really. Sometimes the degrees varied and the recovery time differed, but fire always pursued her, snapping at her heels, driving her to do the things she didn't want to do.  
She didn't even bother to clutch at her chest, though it cried out in pain. Her hands were occupied, darting in and out, driving her dagger into the chinks in the armor of the things that were attacking them. Her arms and face dripped with blood, screamed in agony, but her chest glowed with a fierce light. With every orc-throat she managed to slit, the fire raged stronger. Arrows flew past her, never touching her. Intuition and a nameless life force took hold of her body, making her dance and dodge, then drive in with killing accuracy.   
But it was taking her too long. For each orc she managed to kill, at least two more got past her. Behind her, she heard hobbit screams, heard their little hearts beating madly. She whirled around in time to see Merry and Pippin dragged away, clutched by the filthy orc-hands.  
Where, oh where were the others?  
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flash of a sword, heard a familiar voice calling her name.  
Boromir!  
Kara's mind whirled even as she jammed her dagger blade into an orc's forehead. She had to get to him somehow. Separated, they would never make it. Together they would be able to watch one another's backs, at least until the rest of the Fellowship arrived. Kara began forcing her way through the mass of orcish grime.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Boromir had lost track of how many times his sword had slid past armor and into flesh, how many death screams had pierced his eardrums. Blood gushed over him in rivers. Still he fought, undaunted. His sword flew, all confusion driven away, one purpose now pounding in his blood. Protect. The little ones had been taken. He did not know what had become of the others of the fellowship. They were dead, for all he knew. But there was still one that he could and would protect as long as he could still move. He struggled his way toward her now, frantically mowing down the orcs in his path.  
  
Then, to his left, Boromir heard a deep, throaty growl. It almost sounded like a laugh, saturated with bloodlust. He whipped around, sword in front of him, feet braced. Standing not five yards away from him was the leader of this band of freaks. He had to be the leader, or at least their champion. His size was greater, his armor better, his weapons bloodier. His eyes burned with hate more than all the others.  
  
Boromir watched, as if in slow motion, the orc-thing set an arrow on his bow, draw it back, teeth bared with relish at killing. A sickening twang of the bowstring, the whistle of rushing air. The arrow flew toward Boromir, black as death, dripping with poison...  
  
And imbedded itself in the tree behind him.  
  
Boromir's mind paused for a moment. The orcs were notoriously good shots at close range. There was no way this warrior could have missed at this distance.  
  
Then Boromir heard a scream, saw a mass of cloth and red hair flying at the monster. The orc's gaze had shifted toward the attacker, one eye obscured from the blood of a cut just over his temple that had not been there before. Again, the aggressor charged, a bloodstained blade slashing at the hands that held the bow and arrow. It was Kara. Her eyes flamed with rage, her chest glowing with a piercing light. Boromir reached down and grasped his sword, but stood unable to do anything for fear that he would injure Kara. The orc threw her off, grabbing her arm with one bleeding hand and driving his sword into her shoulder. Kara gasped, then emitted a low moan of pain as the blade shoved through flesh and bone and pinned her to the earth.  
  
Then the orc turned back to Boromir and set another arrow with his blood-soaked fingers. Its hands trembled weakly. The dagger blade had severed most of the tendons in its wrists. Still it drew back the bowstring and took aim straight at Boromir's heart. Boromir watched helplessly. This was too much like the vision Galadriel had shown him. He stood frozen, unable to move.   
  
Then he heard the gurgling of blood, saw Kara struggling her way up the blade of the very sword that pierced her. The way she moved reminded him of a butterfly on a pin. Her chest still glowed with white-hot light, her eyes still frozen in determination. One hand extended toward the orc, the bloodied palm facing him. Her face was hard with fury. She opened her mouth, and a scream that was not Kara's voice tore from her throat.  
"LIM BREITHA A FUIN!"*  
Then a flash of light blinded Boromir. He strangled a cry of pain and covered his eyes with one hand. He heard a choaked roar, the sound of a heavy body thudding to the ground. Thin protests came up from all around him, then the sound of orcish feet thundering in a retreat.   
  
The otherworldly scream slowly died into Kara's cry of pain and exhaustion.  
  
The blinding light ebbed little by little until it became a warm glow. It seemed to   
underline every blade of grass, every green leaf, every fallen twig, made the breeze visible, the sunlight tangible. Boromir felt his chest ache with the pain of exertion, smelled sweat and blood mixed with earth, heard the footsteps of the Fellowship, but saw only one thing.  
  
Kara lay on the ground now. The earth was soaked with her blood. She had pulled the sword out of her body and hurled it away from her. Her eyes stared unseeingly into the sky, tears flowing freely. The glow in her chest did not die away.   
Boromir scrambled to her, for the first time in his life nearly tripping over his own feet. His blood ran cold.  
"Kara...can you hear me? Please, don't let it end like this. Fight, Kara!" Kara blinked slowly, then her eyes turned on him. A gentle smile fluttered over her lips. Boromir stroked her forehead, sighing with relief.  
"Don't try to talk." He spared a glance down at her shoulder. The wound was open and vile, spurting blood with every heartbeat. A soft whimper escaped Kara's lips.  
"Boromir..." Her voice was quiet, strangled. Boromir cradled her face in one hand, leaning closer so he could hear.  
"I have to go now...I'll be back, though." Boromir's throat clogged.  
"Don't give up hope, Boromir. Death is just as temporary as life." Her chest heaved in a sigh, and her eyes turned to the horizon, barely visible through the trees. Her eyes shone like stars.  
"Oh, I do wish it were morning. The sun rising is such a miracle..." Her smile widened just a little. The glow in her chest brightened.   
"As you are a miracle. My Boromir." A quiet breeze whispered through the trees overhead, blending with the sound of Kara's breath leaving her body. She sagged against Boromir, her eyes still open and gazing at him fondly.  
With numb fingers, Boromir reached down and closed her eyelids. Her blood had soaked through his tunic, but her shoulder no longer oozed. Gently, he laid her down on the leaves. Her chest still glowed, the Mark seemingly unaware that she was gone. And still the trees whispered, though their song had changed from tranquil to furious.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aragorn could have sworn that Boromir had been turned to stone. For endless minutes he stood with Gimli and Legolas, feeling as if he were watching Boromir's spirit drain out through an invisible wound.   
Legolas's eyes held the look of a wounded animal, blinded by pain. His gaze darted from the orc bodies lying at their feet to Aragorn, as though seeking an answer to an unspoken question. Aragorn had nothing to offer him. Gimli leaned on his axe, head bowed in respect.   
  
Kara's lifeless body still glowed, making even her ripped and bloodstained clothing seem a little cleaner. The birds seemed to have stopped singing in deference. Even the wind had died down.  
  
At his elbow, Aragorn heard a murmur from Gimli.  
"I do not know which was the greater loss to the party, Gandalf or Kara." Aragorn touched the dwarf's shoulder.  
"Hush, Gimli. There will be time for comparisons later. Both are at rest now."  
  
After a few moments, Legolas stirred. His voice was soft, but urgent.  
"We must pursue the orcs. If we're to regain Merry and Pippin we must act quickly." Aragorn nodded in agreement. He would have gone to tell Boromir, but his good intentions of late had been shot down. He had only been thinking of Kara's well-being, and had meant to put his request gently to Boromir, and only as advice. The man irked him, however, and irritation for once outweighed reason.  
  
Now, however, irritation was impossible. Someone had to speak. A hand motion sufficing to make a request to the elf. Legolas nodded, then stepped quietly over to Boromir. Slowly, almost timidly, he reached down and touched the other's shoulder.  
  
Boromir shook himself, then looked up at Legolas. His once proud eyes were now raw with tears, filled with pain and anger. His tunic was soaked with blood, his own mingled with that of Kara's. Quietly, he nodded, then stood.   
"We have not the time to bury her...but we cannot just leave her here." Uncertainly, he looked down at the still form. She looked as though she were in a deep, peaceful sleep, hands folded loosely over her ribcage.  
  
Legolas turned and began walking with purposeful steps toward a tree. Out came his long knife, and with a swift motion he stripped off a peice of bark, then began to carve. Elf runes were more efficient than the common alphabet, and soon he looked up and nodded.  
"Gimli, if you could fashion a flat surface to tack this to..."  
"What does it say?" Aragorn asked curiously. The question seemed to be more for Boromir's benefit than Aragorn's, seeing as Aragorn could read Sindarin and runes. Legolas shrugged.  
"It loses meaning in translation, but...." Clearing his throat, he read aloud,  
"Life is uncertain full of change  
Things in the past, once friendly, now strange  
Ninety and nine will abandon in strife  
The 100th, unthinking, will lay down her life  
A truer of friends will never draw breath  
Protection and healing, in life and in death  
For that we owe honor and give her our thanks   
And wait 'til the day she rejoins our ranks.  
-The Fellowship, in honor of I Calad Aur"  
  
Boromir nodded slowly.  
"It will do." Wordlessly, he indicated a nearby flat piece of wood that would serve to tack the bark flat. Then he knelt again by the body of Kara, bathing in its gentle glow. Slowly, he reached up and took off his horn, laying it by her side. For a moment he watched the pulsating light emitted from Kara's Mark. Then, like one forcing himself to wake from a coma, he stood and pulled his shield onto his shoulder.  
"Come! Let's find the little ones. We cannot stand around forever."  
  
  
((Note: Lim breitha a fuin=Light shatters darkness. Just so y'know!)) 


	15. Ten months later....

((Yet another chapter! I wanted to post it tonight so everyone could read it conveniently---unfortunately, I'm very tired tonight, so I might have missed some critical edits. If there are any kinks, I'll have them worked out by tomorrow night. Translations for Sindarin are included. Love you guys!!!!))  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It had never occurred to Boromir that one day he might have to remind himself to breathe. As he felt his lungs begin to ache from want of air, he considered whether or not another intake was worth the trouble. Slowly, he weighed the pros and cons, almost decided against it. Then, just as his vision began to black out, he changed his mind. His chest rose sharply, and after giving his body a moment to recover Boromir went on his way down the halls of the palace.  
Aragorn had called him to the throne room, but he was in no rush to be there. He happened to know there was nothing urgent to attend. There never was. Not that he considered important, anyway. There was very little that he considered of any import. His goals were attained.   
The war was over. The ring was destroyed. Everyone was happy, whole, complete.  
Well, almost everyone.  
Boromir couldn't remember the last time he had slept. Oh, it wasn't the nightmares of the battles he had led. Those were simple enough to forget. After leaving Kara, the death of his men evoked no response in him save for a gentle pity. Nor was it the memory of inflicting so much death, or experiencing so much fear. No, the war was over. He was considered a war hero, brave and unyielding. Monuments to him were up everywhere. His admirers would never guess that he had gone into each of his battles praying for death. Each time he stood in the dusty aftermath of a conflict with little more than scratches, he dropped his head back and cursed the sky, agony swelling up in his heart afresh.  
Now the fighting was done, the dead buried, their families consoled. The One Ring was gone, destroyed in the cracks of Doom. Aragorn was the new king, Arwen at his side. There didn't seem to be much place for him, Boromir mused quietly as he stared at a portrait of his father hanging in the halls. He was an advisor, little more. He came when called, associated with those whose company he could tolerate, then retreated to his room or to the garden.   
That blessed hour would not come for some time yet, and now the throne room was upon him. Nodding curtly to the two doormen, Boromir slipped in and stood behind those waiting to see the king. Aragorn finished speaking to the mason, then, looking up, saw Boromir.  
  
"Lord Boromir! Why linger in the shadows? Come sit down!"   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aragorn frowned gently at Boromir as he approached the seats near the throne and took the most concealed one. The dim torches illuminated the pained light in the warrior-turned-hermit's eyes. It was always there now, and it worried Aragorn. He had been surprised indeed that the many dangerous battles his friend had plunged himself into had not resulted in death.   
  
Aragorn, in some strange way, blamed himself for the way Boromir now behaved. He had not thought his love for Kara had been sincere, thought it a simple flight of fancy. Boromir had seemed capricious and undedicated back then---a million years ago. Now he was different. He was solid, thoughtful, and wise, looking beyond the moment he had once clung to so desperately. Admittedly, now that the brash edge was taken off, Boromir made a skilled advisor. Still, at times Aragorn missed that prideful and foolish side of him, the arrogant faith in himself and his people. That part of Boromir had been appealing in some annoying way. But that part of him had drained from his spirit and mingled with the blood on the ground that horrible day...  
  
The death of Kara had affected them all. Without realizing it, they had come to find a solace in her simplicity and love of life. More than that, they had put their hope in the strange events surrounding her, and the mark she bore on her breast. It had broken Aragorn's heart to tell the little ones on the day they had reunited. Merry and Pippin were shocked. Frodo and Sam guessed the moment they mentioned Kara. Aragorn did hate to see hobbits grieve.  
  
But no one was taking it harder than was Boromir. Understandably so. Aragorn watched the last of his callers depart, reflecting on how he would react should something horrible befall Arwen. The mere thought was enough to make him shudder.  
At last, he turned to Boromir, his voice quiet.  
"How are you doing, old friend?" Boromir shook himself, as one waking from a dream.  
"I still live. I would not trust any further information about my well being." A watery smile. Aragorn sat forward, fighting a cringe at his friend's expression.   
"Where a heart beats, hope lives. In any case, I have a surprise for you." Boromir's eyes flickered briefly with interest. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the throne room door flying open. In poured what seemed like a massive number of two-foot-tall, dark-haired creatures. In reality, there were only four.   
"Aragorn! Have these palace guards executed messily! Letting such a fierce army through their ranks! For shame!" Pippin cried out, his little legs carrying him quickly to the throne. Aragorn reached down and patted the low shoulder fondly.  
"I shall attend to it immediately. Come in, good halflings!" As if they needed his invitation, the three remaining hobbits skittered in. Frodo and Sam stayed together. Aragorn smiled at the two. Their friendship was the stuff of legends. Merry's cheerful round face made its way immediately over to Boromir.  
  
"And how many battles have you caused, little rogue?" Boromir finally spoke, a rare note of joviality in his voice. Merry grinned.  
"We'll discuss that later. We've had a long journey, and we want our supper." Aragorn stood.  
"Supper is waiting in the hall. We shall be glad to feed you...providing, of course, we are allowed a description of Sam's wife."  
Sam, of course, blushed deeply.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Boromir slipped out into the night, pulling in a lungful of the clean air. The hobbits and Aragorn had finally retired with much coaxing from Arwen. She had tried convincing Boromir to sleep as well, but knew enough not to push after his first firm declination.   
  
The garden welcomed him again. Most nights he stayed awake and watched the sunrise. He found the only time memories of the past didn't hurt was when he fixed his eyes directly east, never allowing them to wander, until the last star disappeared. Then, he would tense in anticipation until the sun broke its way over the hills.   
  
In that brief moment in time, that one heartbeat, Kara lived again. Her gentle face smiled at him, her dark eyes searching his, pooled with the emotions she felt so deeply and hid so carefully.  
  
Then the moment would pass. Afterward, always right afterward, a cold longing would sweep over him, forcing tears from his eyes. The memory of her voice, her touch, her smell, always faded, and he felt the brutality of her murder all over again.  
  
This morning was no different. Boromir found himself bracing against the pain as the stars began to fade. His body was numb from the early morning chill, but his heart still burned. He nearly swore he felt blisters on his soul. With a deep sigh, he prepared to turn his face eastward.  
  
But something stopped him. A soft sound to his left. It was familiar, yet somehow unwelcome. It was the sound of another human. Not a voice, exactly...Boromir strained his ears to hear. It was the sound of crying. Someone was walking nearby and weeping quietly. Boromir found himself compelled to see who it was.  
  
Quietly, he slipped his way through the bushes and stopped just short of the hedge. His eyes scanned the garden quickly for the source of the noise. Quietly now, Boromir. Don't let anyone see you. The corner of his eye caught movement, and he glanced toward it.  
  
It wasn't...no, it couldn't be. It must be a trick of his eyes. Some cruel imp playing games with his mind. An illusion of the moonlight.  
  
But why, oh why did it have to take HER form?  
  
The longer Boromir stared, the less able he was to believe he was imagining things. It was Kara. She was pale, drawn, and looking too thin to be healthy, but Kara nonetheless. There was no mistaking her form. She was crying, walking unsteadily through the garden paths. Barefoot. It was definitely Kara.  
  
Boromir found himself frozen in place, unable to move, no matter how he wanted to step out of the shadows and touch the specter that wandered through the night.  
  
Kara drew closer, her footfalls making no sound, until at last she stood about four yards away from Boromir's hiding place. The stars shone down on her faintly, making her look all too white. Wrapping her arms around herself, Kara faced away from the glaring light of the moon and bowed her head. Placing one foot in front of another soundlessly, she slipped around the corner of the wall and was out of sight.   
  
Boromir finally found it within himself to move, and scrambled after the apparition. Rounding the corner she had turned, he found nothing but an endless expanse of garden, with no other signs of life.  
  
Boromir slowed to a stop and blinked. His hands were shaking, unsteady. The bitter taste of bile clawed at the back of his throat. He couldn't bear to be alone. Slowly, he turned and headed into the palace. His feet made their own way toward Aragorn and Arwen's room. His hand shook violently, making him almost unable to knock on the door. The sound was little more than a weak tap.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aragorn grunted and stirred at the sound of a tapping on the door. It was, he assumed, one of the hobbits. Perhaps they had become lost. Arwen patted his arm.  
"I'll take care of it." Aragorn smiled. It seemed reasonable, since elves never really slept, that she should take care of night callers. Still, he felt a slight guilt. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he pulled on his dressing gown and slippers. He heard the door creak open, some soft words, then a summons from Arwen.  
"Aragorn! It's Boromir." There was an almost panicked edge to her voice.  
Aragorn ran into the front segment of their chambers. Boromir stood at the door, white as a sheet in the dim candlelight.   
  
"Boromir, what is the matter?" Boromir shook his head.  
"I....I just wanted to make sure."  
"Of what?"  
"That all was well."  
"Boromir?" Arwen reached up and clasped Boromir's shoulder, shaking him gently. The dazed expression on Boromir's face broke, and he smiled wryly.  
"I'm sorry...I've just...had a great fright." He seemed to be searching for words. "I think I saw something that was not there." Aragorn nodded in understanding. His twisted expression said it all.  
"It's understandable, old friend. You've been eating little, sleeping less, and missing her every time you turn around."   
  
Between friends, mostly ones with long and harrowing histories, a mere look is enough to communicate deep emotions that no words can indicate. Arwen, Aragorn, and Boromir were such friends, and in that moment all of them were shaken by the pain Boromir felt.  
  
Wordlessly, and with a sad smile, Boromir turned and walked slowly out of the room, out the door, and down the hall.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Fandro had been on duty all night. He was ready to go home, but his duties dictated that he stand here until the stroke of twelve, ever-vigilant. Nothing much ever happened, but the odd person had been known to slip in and he had incapacitated more than one vagrant trying to asassinate the king.  
  
So it was with a general air of unsurprised anger that Fandro observed a shadow moving in the corner of his eye. Whipping toward the noise, he shouted,  
"Who goes there?" The shadow rustled.  
"Where is Lord Boromir?" Fandro blinked. The voice was nonthreatening, desperate, and decidedly feminine. If anyone else had been enquired after, Fandro would have thought this was a girl of the professional persuasion come for an appointment of the carnal nature. As it was, Fandro bristled with irritation and brought himself up to full height.  
"What concern is it of yours where Lord Boromir is? Why should you know if he is dead or alive?"  
"...Is he dead?" The voice suddenly became menacing. Fandro took a more defensive posture, not uttering a word. Again, the voice inquired,  
"Is....he....dead?" Fandro remained silent.  
  
Suddenly, he found the world rocking from a blow to the head. The figure in front of him was small, but too indistinct to be clearly made out. Before he could react, a foot came up and rammed into his solar plexus.   
  
Quickly, a knife to his throat and a hand over his eyes. The hand was small, but the dagger pressed firmly. Fandro felt a trickle of blood run down his neck.  
  
"If you do not tell me right this moment if the Lord Boromir lives, I will make you wish you had never met me." Fandro sighed. Obviously this was a dangerous person. Why did people like this always think he was going to tell them the truth?  
  
"The Lord Boromir is dead. He died a week ago."   
Could it be---or did he imagine it? The dagger blade quivered breifly. The voice did not speak for a moment, and when it did speak, it broke.  
"Do you know who I am?"  
"No."  
"Good." Fandro heard a dull thud, then slithered to the ground. His last impression before he lost consciousness was that of a dark figure with a glimmer of silver on its chest.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Kara slipped past the doorframe, shutting the heavy oak quietly behind her. It was dark, too dark for her to see anything, but she could sense that the room had not been entered in quite a while. After a bit of bumbling around, she found a candle and managed to light it. The dim glow cast on the room was enough to make her blood run cold, then white-hot.  
  
Everything was placed as if he had just walked out of the room. Though dust covered some surfaces thickly, others looked recently used. Some of his drawers were open, papers poking out of them. Quill and ink stood ready to be used, as though the writer had just put them aside for a moment. A pair of leather gloves was thrown haphazardly onto a chair. The bedclothes were rumpled; a dip in the mattress evident where he had last slept...or tried to sleep. The sheets were twisted as if someone had been tossing and turning beneath them.   
  
Kara's traveling pack slid to the floor, hitting with a puff of dirt. The smell of earth, accumulated through long traveling, wafted up from the bag. The candle in her hand began to tremble. Quickly, she placed it on the nightstand, nudging aside some old letters and a pipe. Her knees were beginning to give way, and so she did the only thing she knew to do.  
  
Kara slipped into the bed, trembling fingers grasping onto the pillow. It still smelled like him. Warm tears soaked the mattress as Kara curled up in the hollow made by Boromir's body. Desperately, she clutched his pillow to her chest. Silent, strained sobs rocked her in a violent lullaby. She tried to think, tried to breathe, tried to do anything to let herself know she was still alive. She felt beaten. Even as the sobs died away she twitched with the pain of unseen blows.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Boromir shuffled down the halls, trailing his fingers along the icy stones to either side of him. He would return to his room, try to sleep. He felt exhausted.  
  
As he came within sight of his room, he stopped. The lock had been picked. The ruddy glow of a candle emanated from underneath the door. Boromir pulled a knife out of his belt and crept toward it with caution. Slowly, cautiously he edged his way into the door. His eyes darted around the room, then came to rest on the only other sign of life within.  
His heart stopped. The thick blankets all but swallowed a small trembling form. The sound of quiet weeping, muffled in the pillows, floated up from the mound of wrinkled bedding.  
"Who are you?" Boromir attempted to demand. No sound came from his throat. Cautiously, he took a few more steps toward the bed. Poking out from under the blankets, he could just see a lock of hair. It was coppery red.  
"C...Calad Aur? Pedo na nin, Calad Aur.*" Boromir drew on his scanty store of Sindarin. He knew of no one else that would respond to being addressed in this manner.  
  
The mound gave a shudder. A strained, raspy voice, made beautiful by its familiarity, emanated from the bed.  
  
"Boromir? Nin mell pen?"   
  
Boromir reached out and drew back the blankets. Two luminous eyes locked onto his, shining faintly in the pale, drawn face.   
  
"Kara."  
  
As if that word had broken through some unseen restraint, Kara flew at him, ramming him in the chest and nearly knocking him over. Boromir caught his balance quickly, hanging on to her so tightly he doubted she could breathe. Her grip on him did not lessen, however. He buried his face in her hair. Kara's muffled sobbing had taken on a desperately joyful note. Boromir sank down on the bed, pulling her with him. Her smell made him dizzy. For some odd reason, what was left of his brain started analyzing her scent. Something between warm bread and roses, overwhelmingly sweet and comforting.   
  
"I thought you were dead, Kara. We all did."  
"...I think I was. It's hard to tell about these things. How long has it been?"  
"Too long." Kara nuzzled into his chest, directly over his heart. Boromir sighed softly.  
"Please tell me I'm not dreaming." Boromir felt Kara pull away. He looked down at her face. The paleness was gone, and her features had relaxed into an expression that reminded him of her rural heritage, practical and active.  
"If this were a dream, would your apparition do this?" Kara's hand flew up and slapped Boromir across the face. The blow was too gentle to hurt, but it gave the entire situation a sudden air of reality. Boromir looked back down at Kara. She was smiling gently, her eyes large and liquid. Boromir chuckled, then looked at her curiously.  
  
"But...but how are you here now if you were dead?  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
((Translation:  
Pedo na nin = Speak to me.  
Nin mell pen = My dear one)) 


	16. ...And what happened in between

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Dear Lord. My dear, dear Lord."  
Kara had been here for an inestimable time, on her face before a Blinding Light. The elves called it Lim, a bright, sparkling light. It was her Abba, her Father. The God of her birth stood before her here, wordlessly filling her with awe.  
  
Finally, Kara pulled herself upright, head still bowed in adoration. A deep chuckle from the throne made her want to leap.  
  
"You've been here a long time resting, little one."  
"I know, Abba. I have a question..." He said nothing. Kara continued.  
"...Have I failed?" Gently, Abba reached out and clasped her hand.  
"Would I have brought you here if you had?"  
"Well...I don't see that I did anything of value." Kara looked away, ashamed to feel so inadequate in front of a King.  
  
"You did what I set you out to do. By preventing or causing a few minor events, you set in motion a chain reaction. That reaction brought about My will That, dear one, is not failure."  
"...So, am I done, now?"  
"Not by far. There is so much more for you to do...Your first order of business is to recieve a gift I've given you. The first part of your life was horribly painful. When you return to your body, follow the instruction of your Mark. Do not let your heart interfere. I will guide you."  
"...Father, will you be there with me?"  
"Every step, dearest one."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Kara was cold. It wasn't an unpleasant, bone-chilling cold, nor was it numbing. It was a kind of cold that cradled her senses, arguing with them that they should wake up. Since trying to open her eyes was not working, Kara tried to remember where she was.  
Then a flash of memory hit her. The screams of battle, Merry and Pippin being dragged away, looming black monsters. She remembered the sword in her shoulder, the piercing pain, the warm flow of blood. Kara opened her eyes and raised her hand to cup the wound.  
It was healed. The dress she wore was torn and bloodstained, but her skin was smooth and unscarred. Her chest was glowing still, but the burning feeling was curiously absent. Slowly, Kara levered herself upright and looked around.  
They were in the same forest, but different. It looked like spring, when she remembered it being fall. She looked down at the mark on her chest questioningly.  
"...I am reasonably sure something has gone awry. Do I get any hints from you or do you intend to leave me in ignorance?" Briefly, she stopped and glanced into the woods on either side.  
"I would do better to silence myself. Speaking to things that do not live is one matter, but holding a conversation with one's chest is something entirely different and altogether disturbing."  
Slowly, Kara pushed herself upright and looked around. She seemed to be alone, which could only mean one thing. The fellowship had abandoned her. That, in turn, could only mean they had thought she was dead.  
How wonderful.  
"Well, at least I've maintained my sense of humor." Kara blinked.  
"...of course, it is quite difficult NOT to have a sense of humor when you are speaking to your cleavage."  
  
Her chest was still aglow. The Mark seemed to be urging her to do something. She felt a peculiar desire to go back the way they had come, and quickly. Absent were the questions she should have been asking---where was the Fellowship, what had happened, how long had she slept, and why wasn't she dead? Instead, one thought looped round and round. Go that way. Go that way NOW. Kara shrugged, seeing no reason to resist, and stepped out in the direction her mark was leading her.  
  
She had gone no more than a few steps when she felt something bump her thigh. Kara looked down and gasped softly. Boromir's horn was looped around her shoulder, hanging nearly to her knee. Boromir must have left it with her as a token. Her eyes filled with tears as she ran her fingertips over the weathered strap.  
"...Dear Boromir. Please be well when I return to you."  
  
  
  
Day turned into night, night blended into day, days into weeks. Kara knew no fatigue. Though her mark didn't burn her at first, as the days went on the fire returned. Sometimes her shoulder hurt terribly. She could have sworn she still felt the blade grating against her collarbone. The pain did not daunt her. On she ran. From time to time she would stop, lay down where she stood, and fall into a deep sleep. She did not know how long she stayed unconscious during these times, but when she awoke she always stood back up and immediately began running again.  
  
After what seemed to Kara like years, she began to recognize the terrain. It grew fairer, more mountainous. She did not take time to stop and examine it. Her entire soul was focused on going forward along the path the Mark showed her. Kara traveled into the night.  
  
Then, after incalculable days of traveling, Kara spotted a familiar sight in the distance. Tears of relief brimmed in her eyes. It was the gates of Rivendell. Kara's own emotions drove her on now. Feelings of homesickness, loneliness, and above all, an intense need to hear news of the ones she loved. Kara slid to a stop at the closed gates, slithering into the wooden beams and pounding with both fists. The watchman's door slid open.  
"What is your name, and what business have you in Rivendell?" Kara stood on tiptoe, hands grasping at the carved stone on either side of the gate.  
"My name is Kara! I am the Bearer of the Mark---I Calad Aur!" Kara's fingers trembled as she pulled her collar down low enough for the watchman to see her mark. Two luminous elfin eyes widened, and she heard the bar being removed from the gate. The watchman ushered her in, his quick steps leading her along a path she knew well---the path to Elrond's abode. Kara reached out and grasped his sleeve.  
"Please, can you tell me if Tathren and Faradir are in the city?" The watchman nodded.  
"They have not left for months. Shall I send someone to fetch them?"   
"Yes please, and with haste." She was conducted into the front hall of Elrond's house. Upon seeing the familiar room, Kara was overcome with an overwhelming desire to sleep. Her feet and ankles began to give. The familiar sensation of her body shutting down washed over her, and she sank to the floor, propping herself against the wall. Her hands trembled with fatigue, intense cold seeping into her bones.  
  
It seemed to be only moments later that the door opened and admitted three elves---the same three that had conducted her into this room the last time she came to Rivendell. Kara looked up at them, but found herself incapable of speaking. Tathren leaned down and pulled her into a hug. Kara heard her speak, but her mind refused to process the words. Elrond leaned over and touched her forehead, motioning for Faradir to do something. The room spun. Kara struggled to see, then gave up as blackness closed in on her, covering her in velvet numbness.  
  
  
"I do wish you would take a bit longer to rest, dear one." Kara shook her head at Tathren, securing the strap of her pack.  
"I have no time to waste. I can move faster and will be more trusted than any messenger. I must see for myself that the others are all right." Her movements were jerky, her face tense. Faradir shook his head.  
"I agree with Tathren. You do not look well."  
"Thank you."  
"...You know quite well what I mean. Will you at least let one of us travel with you?"  
"Lord Elrond needs you here." Kara turned to look at the two elves who had become her closest family. She did not want to leave them, but the Vision given to her was still fresh in her mind. She had to follow the promptings from her Father, not from her own soul. Her eyes were bottomless pools.  
"I love you both, and once he has discharged you, I will beg you to come to Gondor. But not until then." Managing a weak smile, she reached out and embraced them. Then she pulled away and slipped out the door.  
  
Tathren turned to her cousin with a sigh.  
"It is Boromir she seeks. Do you know what has become of him?"  
"If he has not improved since I heard of him last, he has surely died."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	17. There Goes My Hero...

This chapter, instead of chronicling the last bit of Kara and Boromir's early tale, focuses on a real life hero, the summing of all that I know as beautiful. She deserves an entire story of her own, but my insufficient words couldn't do her justice. Instead, I'll just try my hardest to do the most difficult thing in the world for me....admit that she is gone.  
  
Emma, my great grandmother, stood at four foot even. By the time I was born, her coal black hair had faded to a dark gray at the neck and snow white on top. She had a stocky build, heavy black eyebrows, and a beautiful nature. She wasn't naturally quiet, neither was she boisterous. Even-tempered and deeply intelligent, she looked life straight in the eye, considered it carefully, and smiled.  
  
It is said that the most beautiful blooms fade soonest. For my Great Grandmother (Tenderly known to me as Gran Gran) this was not so. In her mid-eighties, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. That, however, is only the final chapter of a rich story.  
  
Emma was born in Texas, and there lived for the rest of her life. Indian blood, pulled from various tribes and influences, ran strong in her veins. She lived with her father and mother for the first few years of her life. All too soon, though, her mother died in childbirth, leaving her as the headmistress of the house. Her only comfort at the end of a day of back-breaking work was to hear her father whistle as he came home from his job with the railroad. Then, one day, he injured his foot jumping off a train car. Emma remembered dressing it, waiting for it to heal. He was a diabetic, and so quite soon he was in the hospital from the infection.  
  
About this time a man came through town boasting that he had started a "home" for children whose families could not afford them. Thinking it was only a temporary situation, Emma's father sent her and her siblings to live in this home. There they were beaten, starved, and sequestered from the outside world. When Emma's father found out about their treatment, he immediately pulled them out. He called Emma to his hospital room. He said he was sorry, and promised to never send them to a place like that again. A year later, when the organization was shut down, a huge crate was found filled with cards the children had been sent by family. They were never received.   
  
Soon after, Emma's father died. This opened up a newer and infinitely happier chapter in her life. She was sent to an orphanage run by a man of God, Father Buckner. For the rest of her life she talked about Buckner orphanage. It was the middle of the depression, but the children never noticed. Even when they ate oatmeal three meals a day, life was still beautiful. Emma grew up in that orphanage, and until the last two years of her life returned for each reunion.  
  
Emma married Leo. He had a happy-go-lucky personality to match her even keel. He called himself "The old Irishman." My gran gran he called "The little general." The name was apt, but she disliked it. With Leo she had five children, and because of them developed what became known as "The Look." One day I asked her to demonstrate it. Without batting an eyelash her tempered face turned into a heavy black thundercloud. I was sure the furies of a thousand hells had fallen upon me. I wilted, slid under the table, and hid. When I poked my head back out, her expression had changed to the normal, easygoing Gran gran that I was used to. I never asked her to show me The Look again.  
  
Emma and Leo raised their children. Though each of them chose their own roads, sometimes roads that their parents strongly disapproved of, their love, prayers, and support never left them. Such is a mother's duty and privilege, one that Emma exercised with a grace that was innate to her.  
  
Each of the grandchildren have said that Emma and Leo always made them feel especially loved, elevated above the cruel mob. However, there was one that I am sure they had a special tenderness for...that one was my mother. During the first part of her life, when times were difficult for her and life was unkind, Granny and Grandpa were always there for her. When home life with her drunken father became too much, they would rescue her, put her in the car, and ask her where she wanted to go. These road trips are now some of her best memories. Later, when my mother was in nursing school, so often she wanted to give up. Her Granny and Grandpa wouldn't hear of it. Today she credits them with the full nursing career she has led.  
  
When Leo died, Emma still smiled tenderly at life. Just before he became sick, I was born. Just as my brother, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and deep tan skin, was almost a photocopy of her, so was I a photocopy of Leo. From him I recieved the gift of reddish-gold hair, fair skin, and eyes that turn brilliant green when I get angry.  
  
My gran gran had a unique character. She excelled at being happy---not just joyful, but happy. She was thoughtful, but not reticient, a homebody, but not a recluse. And how she loved to fish. She could always pick the best spot, pull up the biggest fish, and just smile happily.   
  
Gran gran could see the beauty in everyone and everything. Her little home was a reflection of that---everything in it shone with her love. She lived for visits from her family.  
  
Then, as it has with so many people, one word changed everything, brought our world crashing down around us. Cancer. A tumor had invaded her body, OUR Gran Gran's precious little body, the casing for the jewel that was Emma Atkinson. It originated in her abdomen and wrapped itself around her aorta. Sickening tendrils of cancerous tissue sank into her spine, causing pain that stole her will to breathe. For the last four months of her life, she was on pain medication that would have put a normal person twice her size into a coma, yet with her tiny stature it barely tamed the agony. Our sweet Emma.  
  
Chemo failed. Radiation failed. Prayers were met with a simple answer: No. Still she trusted in her Father. The only time she rested was when she listened to praise and worship tapes, or when the Bible was being read to her. How she wanted to go home!  
  
I remember the night I stayed with her, helped my mom take care of her. She had to be kept on her left side to keep the tumor from choking off her spinal cord. I gave her medication, held water for her to sip, helped give her a sponge bath, helped change her diapers. Morning came, and I had to go. Just before I left, I leaned over the bed railing to give her a hug. Her arm, always covered with a healthy layer of flesh, now wasted, reached up and wrapped with surprising strength and warmth around my neck. I had always balked at hugging older people, especially ones on their death bed. They were always covered with drool, always smelled bad. I leaned in and gave her a tight hug without hesitation, burying my face in her shoulder. She smelled sweet, as if the antiseptic stench of hospital equipment and pain pills couldn't affect her. When I summoned up the courage to pull back, the pain in her eyes cleared for a moment, and she smiled. Then, what would be her last words to me fell from her lips. "Bye bye, Good nurse." She knew my entrance exam for nursing school was in five days. She knew how desperately I wanted in. So few words. Such rich encouragement. So typical of her.  
  
The next day we got a call from my mother. She had begun spitting out the pain medication we gave her, so hopeful was she that she could convince all of her children to come to her bedside from their scattered locations. It was as if she could bring them to her side through sheer force of will. The Little General would not be denied. At last, with all her children there, she slipped into a coma. For three days she drifted in a world of painless peace.  
  
The life of a college student is cruel. I could not stay and help my mom care for her. I had to go back to my classes. My teachers were kind, but it didn't soothe the pain. I would hide in a friend's apartment between class periods. Only my closest friends were allowed in.   
  
The day before my entrance exam for nursing school, I went to the computer lab to help a computer-illiterate classmate with her paper. We worked for hours, I trying to teach her how to use Word, she trying to keep from destroying the computer. Then my brother walked in. His manner was casual, almost buoyant. He chatted with me for a minute or two, then in an offhand way, dropped an atom bomb on my life.  
  
"Dad said to tell you that Gran Gran went home last night."  
  
Numbness is supposed to accompany news like that. I felt no numbness, only as if something essential had been ripped away from me, that part of the force that made my heart beat had been strangled. Never again would I be able to look at roses or taste coffee or see the little house that she kept her fishing poles in without a stab of pain that shot down into the depths of my soul.  
  
Her last words to me were haunting as I made last minute efforts to study for my nursing school entrance test. "Bye bye, Good nurse." There was a known fact within my family---if she prayed for something, it happened. Period. The thought that she considered my entrance into nursing school important enough to pray about while she was in such intense pain...it humbled me almost to the point of bringing me to my knees.  
  
I took the test. I'll know in a month whether or not I got in, but it doesn't matter now. I did the best I could, and in that I did honor to Emma...my sweet Gran Gran.  
  
The funeral is still poignant in my mind. I was seated, not with my family, but with a row of my cousins, all at least two years younger than I. All the grand and great-grandchildtren were to sing as part of the service. The song was unimportant. The sound was beautiful. Such harmony and love in the voices of so many weeping people. My papaw preached the service---my mom's ex-alcoholic father, Emma's son-in-law. Gran gran lived with him and her daughter for the last decade of her life. He was mellow now, and his booming voice faltered once or twice, but he was determined to carry out the task Gran gran had given him---to preach the Gospel so that two of her grandsons who live in the depths of sin and self-hatred could hear a message of hope and love.  
  
There was no one to hold me, no one to tell me that it was all right to cry. That would have to come later. I did not cry. I had three tender young girls beside me. All of them needed support, right now. The youngest one, with whom I live in constant enmity, asked me to hold her. I would not, could not cry. Not even when my brother, who I have seen cry maybe three or four times in my life, wept softly. I had no rock, but I had to be strong. Just like Gran Gran.  
  
I won't go on about the funeral, nor the days afterward. This mother's day was so difficult. I have lost one of the two people I admire. A hero is gone. The memory is of so little comfort. My mother and her mother are now left shredded. She was their hero too.  
  
Last saturday, the three of us looked through photographs taken of the last week of Gran Gran's life, and of the funeral. There is not one single picture of me with Gran Gran. Heartbreak is not the correct word to describe what I felt, because with this came the realization that I did not have any pictures at all with her. I've bitterly cursed my camera-shy nature many times since then. I can still remember her, though, every time I hear windchimes, smell coffee, listen to the beat of a hummingbird's wings, see the smile on a kid's face, watch an old woman baking.  
  
So many of you have said kind things about my fan fiction. I have been unable to finish it, even though I know exactly how it will conclude. The reason? It is nothing but a fantasy, as insubstantial to me right now as an apparition. Gran Gran was real. Her story is as rock-solid as her character. Maybe one day I'll write it down. Maybe. I doubt it can be put into words. Until then, suffice to say:  
  
Here lies a woman who was stronger than Kara. Her body needed no jeweled adornments. Her skin needed no makeup. Her eyes shone like brilliant stars against the black velvet cloak of midnight. Deserving of so much more than to perish like any other human, that is exactly what she did. Her humble roots live on in we, her family. God have mercy on our bleeding souls, and let us do our best to try to mimic her love, her peace, her happiness, and most of all, her faith. 


End file.
